


Erstwhile...

by ithinkwehitametaphor



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Canon conform with Season 1, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Consensual, Physical Abuse, Prequel, Romance, teen!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 59,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkwehitametaphor/pseuds/ithinkwehitametaphor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a prequel to Fargo Season 1. Mr. Numbers works with a guy called Hammer and his sister Dovetail from Minot N.D. for the syndicate in Fargo. They have a younger brother nicknamed Wrench who just turned 16. He’s tall but still a scrawny kid. Numbers is 26, tough, often in a bad mood.<br/>One day he walks down the street and hears voices down an alley that cheer on a fight of some kind…<br/></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
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  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
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            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyDorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/gifts).



> I tried to represent different kinds of language, as well as speech and thought processes in this fic through specific visual features.  
> • Spoken English/voiced dialogue is indicated: "text"  
> • The use of ASL is indicated like this: _\- text_  
>  • ASL plus voicing: _“-text”_  
>  • Direct thoughts of characters: _thought_
> 
> ASL does not translate into English word for word but has its own grammar, vocabulary etc. and uses specific facial markers that define the signs. As I am not fluent in ASL, I had to translate the dialogue into written English. There is also an ASL alphabet that can be used to spell English words. Spelled words are indicated as W-O-R-D. (This is, for example, a means to communicate when a person doesn't know specific signs.)
> 
> For a list of images and licences please see endnotes and appendix.
> 
> This work was origially inspired by the Ryan Bingham song: "I heard them say".  
> 

**Minot, North Dakota: July 1989**

 

Mr. Numbers is set on passing the brawl in the back street. Pretends he doesn’t notice. Some kids are pounding the shit out of each other. Let them have their fun.

  
“Get him man! Hit him hard!”

“That’s for being a fucking freak, you know.”

_Freak_. The word makes Numbers stop in his tracks and listen in spite of himself.

“Watch it man, he’s swinging one at you.”

“Ouch.”

“Damn it!”

“Throw him down!”

There are grunting and scraping noises, a yell of pain.  
And he actually recognizes that yell.

_Fuck._ Numbers’s eyes narrow into slits and he bares his teeth. Some part of his brain still tells him to simply pass by. Let it slide. But instinct makes his flesh crawl.

“Make him whimper! Hahaha. It speaks!”

More kicking and shuffling can be heard.

_Shit fucking morons._ Numbers squares his shoulders, pats his jeans for the knife. It’s there as usual.  
  
Casually, he walks down the narrow alley; there are three kids. All of them are boys in their mid-teens. They form a circle around a fourth who is rolled into a ball on the asphalt.  
He growls under his breath and one of the kids turns around, startled.

Numbers cocks his head, “What you doing? Having yourselves a little fun? Yes?”  
  
One of the attackers took a hit on the cheek, looks flustered. “Hey man,” he opens his arms wide in a conciliatory gesture. “None of your business going on here. It’s cool. Really.”

Meanwhile, a bulky red-haired kid and a tall boy in a Led Zeppelin shirt pin their victim down on the ground, their boots placed on his right hand and face.

_Crush that hand to pulp and the kid’s never going to talk again._

“Cool… I can see that. What’s he have to say down there? Everything cool?” Numbers turns to look the kid who’s sprawled out on the asphalt in the eyes.

The first one sneers, “Freak isn’t going to say ANYthing, man. He’s deaf’n dumb, too, I guess.”

Numbers turns around, stares. His nostrils flare, he has to pull himself together.

“Deaf’n dumb. Huh…?” he hisses.

“Look, man. Just leave us alone and get lost. Nobody gets hurt.”

Numbers’s face turns into an evil smile. He bares his teeth.  
“Nobody gets hurt. That’s cute. Are you trying to threaten me? What are you – like the leader of the pack?”  
He takes a few more steps towards the boy, who involuntarily flinches.

Then everything happens in the blink of an eye. Numbers lunges forwards, the other tries to evade him but is too slow and clumsy. The next moment he has caught his right wrist and twists hard, turning the kid’s arm around and pins it to his back. He pushes him down, twisting the hand almost to snapping point until the boy buckles and kneels on the ground.  
A fresh cry of pain rings through the alley.  
The others are too shocked to react at all.

“Let him go. NOW,” Numbers growls.

The tall one recoils, releases the hand he’s almost crushing under his boot and moves away, but the bulky one still has his foot in the kid’s face.

“Let him go, or I’ll snap your friend’s wrist right here and now.” Numbers tightens his grip a little more.

His victim yells out as a new wave of pain surges through his arm.

“Fuck, you fat idiot! Step AWAY. The lunatic is going to break my arm”

Finally, the red-haired kid lets go and takes a step back, too.

“Fine,” Numbers spits. “Now get the fuck up Cassidy and walk away. Get out of here.”

The kid scrambles to his feet. He’s tall but scrawny and his red-brown hair is a mess of shaggy curls. His clothes are dirty from the alley and torn in some places, but his green eyes glint with a wild fire as he wipes away a streak of blood from his face.

Numbers gives him a stern look. “Get out of here.” _But don’t go too far_ , he mouths.

Cassidy nods at him and trots off, slightly favoring one foot.

“And you,” Numbers still has the boy’s arm in a death grip while he uses the other hand to press his head down, “should I ever, EVER see you gang up on anybody again, I swear to God, I gut you like fucking fish. All of you.”

With that he gives him a hard push and so that he lands face down on the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

As he emerges from the alley, Numbers sees the kid across the street, waiting, head hanging low and eyes fastened on the sidewalk. He looks like a stray dog. The one that nobody wants.  
Numbers walks over to him and when he looks up he punches him lightly on the shoulder. A shiver runs through his spine at the body contact but he shakes it off.  
  
_\- Thanks_ , Cassidy signs back in ASL.  
  
Numbers simply nods, his knowledge of sign language is limited to a very rudimentary vocabulary. Basically, to all the words and simple phrases he picked up “working” with the kid’s big brother and sister. Hanging around their place, conducting business for the syndicate is what he actually does. Orchestrating small-town criminals for Fargo, he hops from crappy place to place every other week. Hammer and Dovetail are his forced associates, the kid is just bonus trouble on top that he can’t walk away from.  
There are no parents he knows of.  
  
“I’ll drive you _home_. Was going to _see_ your _brother_ anyways.” All he can awkwardly sign is “home”, “see,” “brother” but the kid usually understands. As far as Numbers knows, his 20-something sister is the only one fluent in ASL.  
  
The car isn’t very far and they walk in silence. His current ride is a black Chevrolet Impala. It’s scrubbed, polished clean, and glints in the afternoon sun as it stands parked on the curb.

“ _You know how_ to drive?” Numbers asks pointing at the car.

Cassidy stares for a moment, then nods.  
Numbers fishes for the keys in his pockets and puts them into the kid’s hand.

“Go on.”

All he gets is a raised eyebrow.

“I said go on. Get in the driver’s seat before I change my mind.”

While the Cassidy gets in the car, Numbers mutters under his breath. Something about not being in his right mind today and the Impala better not getting hurt.

The kid puts the key in the ignition but hesitates mid-motion.

“Why?” he says out loud.

“Why what?” Numbers growls.

“- _Why are you doing this for me?_ ”

He rolls his eyes “Cause your _sister_ would fucking _kill me_ if she found out I let a bunch of idiots beat you bloody. That’s why.”

Cassidy nods and starts the car.

It’s a 10 minute drive to the run-down house at the outskirts of town. The wooden structure looms large at the end of the street. It's a warped and bloated thing.  
When they get out of the car, Numbers beckons the kid to throw him the keys.  
  
“Now get out of my sight for the rest of the day,” he grumbles, eyes squinting, but the other is already half-way around the house and vanishes into the back garden.

 

Numbers doesn’t follow. Instead, he strides through the tangled wilderness of dried, dead plants that is the front garden. The wooden porch boards creak under his feet. Each step shakes loose a few more chips of white paint.  
He raps on the door and waits, swaying back and forth on his feet.

After a few moments he can hear movement and footsteps inside. Then Dovetail opens the door, beaming brightly.

“It’s you.”

“Yeah. Woot. Woot.” he says in a poignantly indifferent voice.

“You’re late,” the woman replies and stems a hand in her hip. Her hair is bright red and flows in curly waves about her shoulders. Freckles adorn her little pug nose; the blue eyes are solidly fixed on her visitor.

“I brought your brother home. He’s in the backyard.” Numbers brushes past her and steps into the house. The inside smells stale and musty.

“Cassidy? You brought him home from where?!” Dovetail turns around and shuts the door behind him with a firm motion of her hand.

Numbers smirks, “I brought him home from a fight with some kids in the street. That’s what.”

“A fight? How did he get himself into a fight AGAIN?” She exhales deeply and shakes her head.

“I guess being called Cassidy didn’t help his cause,” Numbers quips.

“Oh shut up,” Dovetail slaps him on the arm, “Should I talk to him?”

He glares.  
“What do I know? He’s your fucking brother... I think you’d better leave him be.” Numbers shrugs and looks at the floor.

“Mmmh. You come in the kitchen and sit down with Hammer first thing. I think he wants to get business done quickly today. There’s food later. And beer.” She grins at him and turns around to lead the way. As she walks, her summer dress swishes and Numbers has his eyes on her swaying hips, humming lightly to himself.

 

Hammer is a mountain of a man. Tall and muscular, the guy might as well weigh a ton. To underline his animal likeness, he sports muttonchops and a mustache. With the checkered shirt he looks like a freakish cross between a bear and a logger.  
When he sees Numbers, he gets up from the kitchen table. Standing like this, he’s about a head taller than the other man.  
Hammer holds out his paw and shakes Numbers’s hand heartily. A ritual Numbers despises and that makes his hair stand on end.

“Mr. Numbers,” he winks, “I expected you a little earlier.”

Numbers wipes his hand on his trousers and coughs lightly. “Yeah, important business kept me a little longer today.”

In the background Dovetail chuckles while taking all sorts of condiments from the fridge to prepare sandwiches for dinner.

“You staying over night?” Hammer looks over Numbers’s shoulder at his sister but Dovetail doesn’t take notice.

“Might as well.” Numbers offers.

“Good. I have a proposal to make for further business.” The huge man smiles. “Might have a drink to seal the bargain afterwards…”

A part deep within him dislikes Hammer profoundly but a cheap bed, warm meal and free drinks will keep expenses pleasantly low. Fargo pays poor standard rates for the likes of him these days.

 

As soon as he’s alone, safe in the backyard, Cassidy flops down on the dry grass under the apple tree. Hands behind his head, he stares at the blue sky. They’re in the kitchen talking “business.” He knows that because it’s what they usually do first. Numbers has been stopping at their house at least once a month during the last two years. It will take them some time to figure out the work part, so he’ll just watch the sun go down by himself.  
After business it’s time for food and drinks. That’s the part he hates because he knows his brother will be skunk drunk in the end as if it is some kind of mandatory ritual attached to talking shop. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll call Cassidy and make him sit with them. Learn the ropes, although what kind of ropes he’s not sure about. Certainly not drinking.  
As far as he knows, his brother runs trucks from one place to another in an illegal operation. Numbers acts as some kind of supervisor for that.  
When his brother is in a bad mood, Cassidy might either have a chance to escape to his room after dinner – or he’ll be called to attend nevertheless and might end up with a fist in the face.  
Usually, Dovetail and Numbers break that sort of thing up. Either way, it’s not about the pain. It’s only about the embarrassment.

Her name is not Dovetail, although lately he starts thinking about her as Dovetail exclusively. It’s the nickname Numbers uses. His sister’s real name is Caroline. His brother is Dan, but everybody calls him Hammer. He can imagine why he got that nickname but nobody ever talks about it.

He hates it here, the shitty house, his brother, sometimes his sister as well. The one he doesn’t hate for reasons he can’t quite figure out is Numbers. Only that after today he'll be forever embarrassed to face him.  
Thinking about the man gives Cassidy stings of envy. At least Numbers is allowed to get out of this place after a few days while he himself seems to be stuck in Minot forever with people that hate him. Beat him up or, if he’s lucky, ignore him.  
  
His thoughts are disturbed by a branch that crashes down from above, missing his head by a few inches. _Close call._  
Getting up, he makes a decision. Today he isn't going to be treated like shit. Even if that means he has to go hungry for a few hours. Not today.

Cassidy brushes grass and dead leaves from his clothes and walks inside.

He can see them in the kitchen through the open door, talking. Hammer has his back to him. Caroline just sits there, elbows on the kitchen table, chin supported in her hands. She is bored.  
Facing the door, Numbers leans back in his chair and looks up right into Cassidy’s eyes.  
For a second he stops in his tracks and holds the other’s gaze. _Please don’t say anything._  
But Numbers just flicks his tongue through compressed lips and gives him an almost imperceptible nod.  
In no time, he’s upstairs in his room and closes the door. A weird premonition makes him turn the key in the lock. Just to be safe.  
He cranks up the music loud, then goes to sit on the window sill to read.

 

Business talk is finally over and Dovetail is stacking sandwiches on the table. Numbers watches her carefully, the delicate white hands in their perfectly fluid movements. He wonders if she has ever throttled and choked anybody with these. Probably. The thought makes him smile viciously.

“I’m going to get Cassidy. Then we can eat,” she says into the silence. Her older brother grunts.

Hammer desperately wants to climb up the syndicate ladder to get out of this place. And for once Numbers can’t blame him. His business proposal is a crude thing but Fargo will probably agree to move him closer to headquarters. Give him more responsibility. More assigned runs. Hammer is an idiot but he makes good money for the sydicate while his own cut is rather small.  
Numbers sighs and takes a look around. The kitchen is sparsely furnished just like the rest of the house. The sense of dinginess never leaves, no matter how clean the table cloth is and how freshly pressed the bed linens appear to be The furniture remains worn, the carpet ratty, and the floor boards creak under every move.  
  
When Dovetail comes downstairs again she seems a little flustered.

“Well,” Hammer rumbles, “where is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s in his room, the music is on but he doesn’t open the damn door.”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t open the door? Go in and get him downstairs.” A light red color spreads on his face.

“He locked the door, idiot.” Dovetail retorts.

“What?” Hammer spits out rather savagely.

“Obviously he’s not hungry and locked himself in his room. What do you not understand about that?

While Dovetail and Hammer discuss their little brother, Numbers can’t help but feel sorry for him.

“If he’s not coming on his own, I’ll get him,” Hammer thunders.

“You’ll do no such thing! Leave him the fuck be. He got in a fight today.”

Hammer's eyes widen. “And by got in a fight you mean the little shit got beat up?”

His sister glares at him, her hands are clenched into fists.

“I’ll get him down here myself.”

But as Hammers is about to get up, Numbers reaches across the table and grabs his wrist.  
He simply looks at him and shakes his head.

“Let the fucker be,” he presses out. “I’m hungry and I need a drink.” A smile plays around his lips, and he let’s go of Hammer’s arm.

For a second it seems like Hammer is going to get up anyway, but then he sits down and chuckles. “Right. Let’s start with beer and dinner. Let him go hungry.”

Numbers nods and helps himself to a lettuce and ham sandwich. It’s not the Ritz but there’s mayonnaise spread on thickly and the beer is cool and bubbly.  
Dovetail slinks into a chair, a grumpy expression on her face and she begins to eat, giving the sandwich her full attention.

Some time after dinner she sails up the stairs and is gone for the night. As usual, she evades her drunk brother. A smart move, yet Numbers can’t afford such luxuries in business. Instead, he’s forced to drink with Hammer, listen to his bullshit trucker stories. All like “One time… in [insert rural shithole here]” _Ugh._ He can’t say how long he actually sits there at the table but it sure feels like days. In his misery he drinks too much himself, currently past caring. _Whatever it takes._  
Finally, Hammer raises his bulk from the chair, swaying slightly and announces that he’s shit-faced enough to go to bed. Does Numbers find his room alone?  
He simply nods, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the guy. Probably go out back and have a few minutes of quiet, take a smoke or two.

 

As soon as Hammer is gone, Numbers steps outside into the cold night air. The backyard smells of grass and trees, a welcome relief from the used air in the kitchen and the alcohol fumes.  
He sits down on a deck chair and stretches his legs. That was definitely a beer or two too much he thinks as his head starts to feel a little dizzy.  
While he searches his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he can hear a noise in the kitchen. A few moments later footsteps approach and when he turns around Cassidy stares at him, biting off a huge chunk from a left-over sandwich.

Numbers snickers, “Hungry after all?”

The kid munches on signing _–Sorry_ and takes a step back.

But Numbers beckons him to come closer with a wave of the hand and points to the empty deck chair next to where he sits.  
Cassidy hesitates for a moment but decides there’s no harm in sitting down. His hands get a bit sweaty though.

“Your _brother_ is a fucking dick,” Numbers states matter-of-factly.

The kid takes another bite from the sandwich and nods.

“You do lip-read, don't you? I mean, I’m not just talking into the void here _?” God what kind of asshole am I?_

“ _Yes. But it’s harder when the other is pissed and hammered”_ The kid grins.

Numbers’s eyes narrow but eventually he lightens up. “I guess I brought that on myself.”

Cassidy still eyes him somewhat suspiciously.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Numbers grunts. “I’m not like your fucking brother.”

“- _I know that.”_

Numbers gets out his smokes and offers the pack to the other.

_\- No, thanks._

“Whatever…” Numbers puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it.

He inhales deeply and blows curls of smoke into the air.

“What are you going to do when you meet those idiots from the alley again?”

The question hits Cassidy out of the blue.

“- _I – I don’t… I guess I’m just getting out of their way.”_

Numbers leans forward over the armrest of the deck chair and moves closer to Cassidy.

“No. You don’t.”

“If you ever see one of them again and he’s alone. And you get the chance. You take him and beat the fucking crap out of him. That is what.”

Numbers bares his teeth and Cassidy can smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.

“You want to get out of here and away from them?” he points towards the house. “Put on some muscle. Put on some weight. Height should come by itself."

The proximity of the older man makes him feel weak in the knees. It’s hard to hold that intense gaze of the dark brown eyes and not to flinch but Cassidy clenches his teeth and takes a deep breath, holds his ground.

“And most of all. Do your fucking homework. Don’t go all soft in the head like that brother of yours.”

Numbers chuckles, pleased with himself.

Suddenly the tension is gone and Cassidy starts to laugh deep from within.

“ _\- You’re a fucking lunatic, man._ ”

“Don’t you laugh at me, you little shithead!” Numbers exclaims. “I’m dead serious here.” But he can’t hold back a snicker himself.

“Do you have a name sign?” he says.

 _\- What?_ Green eyes stare at him from under a mob of shaggy curls.

“A name sign. Like…” Numbers hesitates. _Why am I asking this? What do I care?_

 _"- I KNOW what a name sign is. Yes, I have one.”_   The question is somehow shocking and yet makes him all tingly inside.

“Can you… show me?” He is DEFINITELY drunk and out of his mind.

To hide his nervousness, Numbers stubs out the cigarette on the chair and flicks it to the ground.

Cassidy ponders the request for few painful moments and smiles.

“ _\- Yeah, I would.”_ Something at the pit of his stomach feels queasy, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Cassidy uses the index and middle finger of his right hand to shape a '<'. Then he puts the index and middle finger of his left hand into the < opening and moves the right hand up and down around them. [(Click)](http://www.handspeak.com/word/search.php?wordID=wrench&submitword=Find)

The word he signs is completely unknown to Numbers. “What does it mean?”

_“- It means 'wrench.'” “Like the tool,”_ Cassidy adds.

Numbers just cocks an eyebrow.

_“- I don't always loose a fight...”_ Cassidy trails off.

“I guess not.”

Numbers is busy trying to get his hands under control, remembering the movements the kid made.

“Like this?” he fumbles around helplessly.

Cassidy rolls his eyes. _“- Your signing is the worst, man.”_

“Oh yeah? I'm trying here, smartass. So shut up and show me how I do this.”

_\- Did you just say 'Shut up to me?'_ Cassidy signs with a fake indignant expression on his face.

“Whatever you're saying, _Asshole_ ,” he grins.

Numbers tries to do the sign for ‘wrench’ again. His tongue flicks through his teeth, eyebrows knit in concentration.

This time Cassidy grabs hold of his hands, puts his fingers in the exact position required and guides him through the movement.

_“_ There, wrench. _”_ the kid smiles.

Numbers is currently too far gone to care about appearances – or about somebody touching his precious hands. It's actually kind of nice – being touched like this. And it's probably the most intellectually challenging conversation he's had with another human being during the last few days. Also, the alcohol does help a little to mellow him.

_\- Wrench_ , he signs and Cassidy nods.

“I have to remember this,” he says earnestly, going through the motion happily once more. There is a brief period of complete silence then as Numbers contemplates which signs he already knows. Maybe this ASL thing is something he should learn. An effort worth making. Could be useful someday.

 

_“- Is this some kind of charity?”_ Cassidy asks, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?” Numbers looks up from his hands.

_“- Is this charity work? Talking to me? Are you doing this to impress my sister or what?”_ the kid's tone is flat and cold as the realization hits him.

Numbers glares. “I don't do charity.” He can feel the bile rising, a metallic taste in his mouth as the moment goes sour.

_“- I bet she's all into this kind of shit. You protecting this stupid little baby brother of hers. Do some serious bonding.”_ Cassidy pushes further, spits the words at Numbers. A fist clenches in his bowels, cold envy at Dovetail. _And really, it's mostly out of duty. She doesn't truly give a shit about me._

The older man says nothing. Just stares. _The insolence. That's the fair reward for going fucking soft inside._

“- _Figures_.” Cassidy says, taking the silence as an acknowledgment. Deep within a part of him freezes over and he sits stiffly, still looking into the other's eyes. It's an open challenge now.

Numbers contemplates throttling the little shit. Wrap his hands around Cassidy's neck hard and press down. Make his insides his outsides. Fuck him up bad.

The pleasant effect of the beers appears to have been washed away in the blink of an eye.

Then something snaps.

Numbers grabs the other by the shirt collar and pulls him close, teeth bared, nostrils flaring.

And next thing he knows, Cassidy kisses him hard. Just like that. And it's as if he can smell the mix of fear and daring, and it is exquisite. For a few seconds he actually relents and tastes him, tongues probe, teeth bite down on lips.

 

With a jerk Numbers leans back and breaks up the kiss.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Don't do this to me.” he mutters under his breath. That wasn't supposed to happen. He swallows hard once, twice.

Cassidy sits motionless trying to compute what he did. What the hell just happened. And whether Numbers is going to cut him to pieces now right here in the backyard. Feed him to the stray cats and dogs.

But Numbers is not even angry, only bewildered. And turned on like hell. _Shit_.

Meanwhile, Cassidy realizes that Numbers **did** kiss him back. _Or did he!?_ At least he doesn't look like he's going to kill him.

“You know,” Numbers rasps, “your sister's tastes and mine don't really match.” He is grateful that Cassidy can't hear his voice shaking. It's hard enough to keep his eyes levelled at him and pretend to be adamant.

 

Numbers gets up and walks away into the house, up the stairs and shuts himself into his room. He sits on the bed for a long time reckoning how much he messed things up...  
What if Cassidy tells his brother– or his sister? His head sinks between his hands, he moves them through his thick black hair. _If Hammer finds out, a whole Pandora's box of fuck-ups is going to open. Shit._  
But the worst is the sudden realization that he liked it, got turned on and feels ashamed of himself. He's been attracted to men before and followed his needs, no problem there. For chrissake, how old is Cassidy,16? Is that even legal?  
The thought makes him laugh bitterly. A few weeks ago he killed a man and threw the body in a car press. And he's sure he didn't give a fuck that it was illegal – homicidal illegal.  
Now he's stuck in nowhere land and he tries to remember the age of consent in North Dakota. _Great_. His self-loathing reaches completely new heights today.  
Drunk and frustrated he gets rid of his clothes and flops down on the bed in his boxers, wrecking his mind until sleep finally has the decency to take him.

 

In the meantime, Cassidy sits in the deck chair a frozen statue. Only now something inside of him locks into place with a click. He doesn't simply not hate Numbers, he has a crush on him. _Aw man._ The sweaty hands he gets signing to Numbers, the larger than life lump in his throat when the guy says a simple “Hello,” the sting he gets every time his sister fastens his eyes on the syndicate man. It's not fear of Numbers at all. Why should it have been in the first place. The worst person he knows, the one to fear, is his brother. This house has been full of petty criminals all his life. Some even brought knives and used them, too.  
When he closes his eyes he can still smell Numbers's hair, feel the warm lips pressed to his. It was so good, like nothing ever was. Certainly not making out with this one chick that took pity on him during summer vacation.

_Things have to change. Habits already unravelled at the edges must be shed. Chances have to be taken. “You want to get out of here and away from them?” Yes..._

 

 

_~~~_

 

_ _


	4. Chapter 4

When Numbers wakes up the sun already shines through the blinds. For a few moments he is wrapped in the sweet bliss between full consciousness and sleep. But then he remembers. And when he sees his clothes piled on the floor instead of neatly folded on the chair, he knows for sure that it wasn't a dream. _Shit_.  
There's nothing to be done about it right now, however. He knows that, too. He's sure that if Hammer knew, he would already be dead. Smashed by a giant body of meat. Flattened.  
So he gathers up his clothes and steals a look out the door. The coast is clear and the bathroom door across the hallway wide open. The room is empty.  
_It's now or never._  
He runs and locks himself in. _Let's see what a hot shower can do to improve things.  
_ Unfortunately, the shower doesn't improve anything. As the scalding water runs down his naked body, all he can think about is the taste of Cassidy's mouth and that he hadn't had a decent fuck in – way too long. Despite the guilt, he can't help but wonder what those hands might be doing to him right now and wow... _This is bad…_

There's a knock at the door.

“Numbers? Is that you?” Dovetail shouts.

“Hell yeah. Of course it's me. Leave me the fuck alone. I'm in the BATHROOM. JESUS CHRIST.” This does it. He's losing all the cool he had left. Which wasn't much in the first place.

“Come down when you're ready. Breakfast is served. ASSHOLE” she pipes.

“Yeah... WHATEVER.”

Numbers glances down and sighs. Better take care of that hard-on. He tries to think of the guy he had a thing with a few months ago. The one who looked like an ancient Greek statue. It's not working. Because, let's face it, the guy was a moron. _Ugh_.  
And while the hot spray rains down on his shoulders he fantasizes about Cassidy's wet lips on his cock. How he grabs the curly red hair and guides him through the motions tongue teasing his boner.  
When he finally cums he can instantly feel the pang of guilt again. For a while he just rests his head against the tiled wall, not ready to get out of the shower to face himself in the mirror yet.

_Pathetic. The likes of me don't feel guilt. Face reality.  
_

Numbers takes his time getting dressed and meticulously grooms his lush black hair to perfection. No need to reflect his dishevelled insides on the outside, too.

 

Downstairs Dovetail waits, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming hot coffee in her hand.

“I thought you might have drowned in there, Mr. the-early-bird-catches-the-worm.” She looks up at him.

“Fuck the early bird,” Numbers says as he walks over to the coffee maker and pours himself a cup.

“Wow, wow, wow, are you even crankier than usual? What happened? Found a grey hair this morning?” she laughs.

Numbers glares and sits down across from her.

“Where's Hammer?” he asks as he takes a cookie from a platter on the table and starts munching.

“Left for work like an hour ago. He has to supervise trucks loading and unloading merchandise.”

“Cassidy?” He almost chokes hearing himself ask.

“School, you dumb shit. Hopefully. Maybe not.” Her eyebrows knit as her amusement changes into slight worry.

“Mhm.” Numbers takes another cookie, stares at it, turns it over and flips it in his mouth.

“Since when do you care?” Dovetail raises an eyebrow.

Numbers looks up from close-inspecting cookie number three. “Since I found him bleeding in an alley yesterday.”  
She glares at him. The woman is a coiled spring ready to jump if prodded.  
Numbers bares his teeth, he needs a diversion.

“Say... is it true?” he grins.

“Is what true?” she asks with a wary undertone in her voice.

“Your name. I never asked you this. Is it true what they say about it?” He leans forward across the table. “Did you saw them off?”

Dovetail blinks, surprised at the question.

“The fingers of that guy beating your 3-year-old baby brother for being deaf. Did you really cut them off?” Numbers is intent on finding out today. See if he can make use of Dovetail should Fargo want her. Raise Hammer’s business proposition a notch.

“Depends...” she draws the word out as long as possible. Her face is on fire, but she doesn't look away. _If he's so very interested, why not... Jeez._

“Depends on what?” Numbers frowns.

“It wasn't a Dovetail saw. I'm not stupid. It was a bone saw. Ever tried to saw through bone with a saw from your toolbox? It's a mess.” Dovetail bites a canine tooth down on her lip until a bead of blood shows. She can still hear the guy yell and see him pass out at some point. There’s blood everywhere and his being unconscious somehow drains the fun out of things quickly.

Numbers cocks his head, watching her face go through a series of emotions .

“He was never going to beat up a kid again. In fact he wasn’t doing much ever again with just stubs for fingers.” Her face is hard. Stone.

 _Maybe you should use that saw on your idiot brother, too.  
_ Instead he says, “Are you interested in a job at the syndicate?”

“I thought I already had a job at the syndicate?”

“Well, technically it would be more of a … shift in position.”

“A shift to what position?” she asks.

Numbers smiles sweetly. “Did you ever kill somebody?”

Her face is completely empty at the moment the question registers. She stiffens, sits up a bit. Her face is white - then suddenly flushes with color as she nods.  
_Bingo_.

 

After breakfast, Numbers and Dovetail go through the books as usual.   
Now and then Numbers looks up when he hears a noise outside. He prays Cassidy won't be back from school while he's still here.  
But he doesn't show up and when they wrap up the books, it's time for him to leave. It's all there, tidy and neat. The figures, the codes are ready to be sent to Fargo.  
He's going to make one last stop at Hammer's business headquarter to inspect the fresh cargo and see if everything is smooth there, too.

Walking to his car, Numbers smiles to himself. This turned out to be an unexpectedly productive morning against all odds. With locating Hammer a lot closer to Fargo it would be a waste to keep the sister occupied as a book keeper of illegal machinations. He had somehow known it all along but until today never cared to probe her. She had the glint in her eye, the cold in her voice. She would make a beautiful killer if she survived the first few hits, that is.  
  
As he gets close to the car, he notices that the window on the driver's side has been pushed down a few inches. Numbers frowns. Carefully, he inspects the Impala but there are no signs of forced entry to be seen anywhere. When he gets in the driver's seat, his eyes fasten on a parcel on the floor. It's a book with a ribbon wrapped around it.  
Numbers picks it up, turns it over in his hands and unties the bow.  
The title says: An ASL Course for Beginners  
It’s not a new book, though, the first pages have pencil marks on them. Like somebody's good intentions go past chapter one.

On the first page something is scribbled in ballpoint pen:

_Shush. Wrench._

That is all. Two words.

Numbers's head sinks on the steering wheel. He tries to remember when somebody, anybody, last gave him a present but can't figure it out. Fargo's money gifts don't count. What he's thinking of is a real present. One with meaning. _Wow. There are none._ Because there are, basically, no people in his life. _Ha,ha, ha, ha._ A bitter and raspy laugh emerges from his throat and he hits his head against the wheel. _Fucking kid._

He doesn’t know whether he’s flattered or angry. Briefly, he considers to throw the damn book out of the car. Get rid of the gift, get rid of the problem. Instead, he puts the book in the back seat and drives off.


	5. Interlude

Numbers doesn't show up at their house for a long time. After he’s been gone six weeks, Cassidy manages to slip in a seemingly disinterested question when Dovetail announces that they might move nearer to Fargo in the future. Maybe in half a year.  
Until that time, she says, Numbers has been assigned to another case. Whatever that means. _Fuck Numbers. Fuck all the people that never come back. That run from him._

The replacement is of the bespectacled bookkeeper type. He is the real deal. His eyes are turned to the floor at all times, he has a low, soft voice. Yet, his air of stiff seriousness makes one suspect something terrible. Like he probably tortures kittens and puppies in his garage for fun. And should Hammer ever insult him too badly, he's gonna slit their throats while they sleep.  
The guy is not allowed to stay in the house, Dovetail decrees.


	6. Chapter 6

**Approx. 8 months later – Early March 1990  
**

 

For the first time the front garden is not a tangle of weeds but a patch of neatly trimmed grass. The house is the same rotten structure, though.  
Numbers looks around skeptically, then ambles across the lawn towards the door and knocks. When nothing happens, he knocks again, louder this time.  
_Get a fucking doorbell.  
_ After a few minutes of impatient waiting there's the shuffling of feet and Cassidy is at the door.

Numbers almost gasps. He opens his mouth, then shuts it tight again.  
_\- Surprise_ , he signs after an awkward moment of initial silence.

He can't help but stare at the kid who is obviously not the one he left behind eight months ago. Instead of a tall scrawny boy with mussed up hair, there's a guy who looks suspiciously like Hammer might have over 15 years ago. He’s even taller than before but filled out and muscled. Neatly trimmed mutton chops frame his face. _Wowowow.  
_ Yet, the look he gives Numbers is still the same. Watery green eyes blink nervously and seize him up, insolent and shy at the same time.

 _“- You let me in or what?”_ Numbers's hands move a bit stiffly but they sign full sentences. He's been working on this hard over the last few months.

 _\- Mr. Numbers._ Cassidy's mouth turns into a wide grin. - _You've taught yourself a new trick?_

“Ya, ya, ya,” Numbers walks past to hide his reddening face as Cassidy makes a step aside but incidentally brushes shoulders with him. _Sweet Jesus. You used to be cute not hot._

Numbers turns around taking a few steps backwards to sign _-Is your sister home? Your brother?_

_\- She's in the shower. Hammer is at the office._

The syndicate man frowns and walks straight into the kitchen to get himself some coffee.  
Cassidy follows close behind. _Too close_.

 

Numbers stares at his mug on the table and desperately wishes he could have put a good shot of bourbon in it.  
While he sips his coffee, Cassidy continues to stare openly.  
_Make that two shots._

 _“-_ _Do I have something on my face or are you just admiring my R-O-M-A-N nose?”_

Cassidy blushes a deep crimson but then tilts his head and replies, _\- Not the nose. The C-H-U-B-B-Y cheeks._ He cannot believe he signed this. _Fuck._

Numbers merely chuckles and takes another sip.  
_This is ridiculous._ He's shunned this place for a long time to – what? Get over what he did? Cool down, certainly. And he's back thinking it's all under control. But instead this guy he doesn't quite know opens the door... and fuck, he's hot. And still not even 17. If it weren't so sick and twisted, it would be really hi-larious.

They are rescued by the sound of naked feet descending the stairs and then Dovetail enters the room.

“Are you boys are having fun?” she says and looks from one embarrassed face to the other.

Numbers doesn't answer, only glares at her.

“What’s up?” Dovetail sits down on a chair across from Numbers. She wears jeans and a thick woolen pullover that is several sizes too large. Her hair is a wet and tangled mess.

She gives him an expectant look, but Numbers remains silent.

At last she taps her fingers on the table and asks, “When?”

“You have a month to wrap things up here, tops,” he says.

“A month? They leave us hanging in this place for eight and when they've decided to take the deal they give me a lousy four weeks to get everything done?” Her voice rises a few notes.

“That is the deal. Take it or leave it,” Numbers shrugs.

Dovetail bites her lips. “Yeah, right. Well, I guess everything to get out of this dump. – The books are all in order anyways. Your replacement was very efficient in that respect.”

While they go over the details of the move and the necessary preparations, Cassidy gets up and makes a few sandwiches.  
Numbers hopes that Dovetail doesn't notice how he’s sneaking looks at Cassidy's newly acquired butt in tight blue jeans.  
But at some point a smile spreads over her face. “You like the new Cassidy? Quite an impressive transformation, huh? Who would have guessed the ugly duckling would turn out decent in the end,” she whispers.  
Numbers's expression changes from fascinated to appalled in a blink. “You don't have to whisper to talk mean filth about him behind his back, you know.” There's a sharpness to his voice he didn't quite intend.  
“Asshole,” is all she has to say before they get back to syndicate matters.

After a while Cassidy puts a plate of sandwiches on the table with a loud clank. He grabs one and stands behind Dovetail’s chair.  
Then he bites a big chunk out of the sub, intently looking at Numbers who isn't sure if he's being teased or whether he is teasing himself by not averting his eyes.  
Annoyed, Dovetail turns around _– Don't you have weights to lift or something? Feck off, we're talking business. You make me uneasy lurking like that._

Cassidy flips her the finger and grins at Numbers but does as he is told.

“What is it – always - with the sandwiches in this family?!” Numbers manages and grabs a baloney sub. “Didn’t we have sandwiches the last time I was here? Are you people never getting any real food?"

 

Cassidy sits at his desk and stares at the wall. _Fuck it._ He has thought about this day a lot. Obsessively. And finally Numbers shows up and he signs… he signs, just like that, out of the blue. It’s too good to be true. He doesn't know how to compute the fact. Doesn’t know what to DO.  
Oh no, he actually said that thing with the chubby cheeks, didn't he? Couldn’t stop staring either. Trying to guess what Numbers was thinking. Was that a laugh of amusement or pity? An approving glance or his imagination.  
And his sister sends him off like a stupid child, too. _Bitch_. He lifts weights, so what. He also reads a lot of books. Both is ridiculed.  
In the end, he makes the decision to go out and get away for a few hours. Maybe see Gavin and buy a joint at Nolan's. Maybe not. No. Not today. Better hang out with the others. At least if he isn't here, he can’t embarrass himself any further.


	7. Chapter 7

_CLUNK. CLUNK.  
_ Numbers wakes up with a start, thinks he heard a noise. Outside it is still dark so he switches on the bedside lamp and looks at his watch. It’s 2 a.m.  
_CLUNK. CLUNK.  
_ There it is again, the sound he has heard in his sleep. Somebody throws fucking stones against the window. _What the hell?  
_ Swearing under his breath, he gets out of bed and pulls a shirt over his head. Whoever this is, they’re going to die slowly and painfully soon. Very soon.  
_CLUNK. CLUNK._

He opens the window and peers out into the darkness of the back garden. A tall figure stands there, bent over, looking for more stones to throw.  
“Cassidy?” As soon as the sound escapes, Numbers realizes the stupidity of his move. The only ones who are going to hear him are Dovetail and Hammer…  
Meanwhile, the person has found a fresh handful of small stones and when he looks up again to throw one, Numbers is pretty sure it’s Cassidy.  
And he actually waves for him to come down.  
_What the fuck?  
_ Numbers considers his options and for a brief moment contemplates shutting the window and going back to bed. Let the crazy kid shatter the glass if he likes. It's none of his business.  
Only – that it is his business. Isn't it? It’s going to be his as soon as somebody notices what’s going on.  
In the end, the thought of raising Hammer or Dovetail from sleep makes him give up.  
Numbers leans out of the window,  
_\- Stop throwing stones, idiot! You'll raise the whole neighborhood. I'm coming down..._

Cassidy grins sheepishly. Numbers has opened the window and is surrounded by a halo of dim light from within. He looks like he's seen a ghost, the skin pale and bloodless. His hair is messed up and Cassidy isn't sure, but he seems to wear his t-shirt inside out.  
The stones clatter to the ground as he waves and then signs for Numbers to come down.

Numbers is not amused. Pulling up his trousers he thinks about ways to dispose of a body the size of Cassidy's. Wouldn't be easy and he's fairly sure Dovetail won't lend him the bone saw. So the kid's drunk or something. Or just plain crazy. He wouldn't be surprised considering the CVs of his siblings.  
He puts on shoes and shrugs into his coat. It's probably cold outside, too. _Great_. He hates the cold more than anything. Another reason to throttle the kid. Making him go out in the dead of night freezing his balls off.  
He tiptoes down the wooden stairs and through the hallway to the backdoor. It's pretty useless to try and sneak in this house, though. The creaking floorboards sound like thunder in the stillness. He prays to whover is listening that Dovetail and Hammer do not sleep lightly tonight.

In the backyard Cassidy waits, breathing hot air into his cupped hands. When he sees Numbers, there's a twitch in his chest. He wasn’t sure he'd get him out of the house in the first place. But now it's on and he has got to take his chance.  
Numbers comes up straight at him and punches him in the shoulder with an iron fist. _Can't smell alcohol._

“Ouch!” Cassidy flinches.

 _\- What the fuck are you thinking? Throwing stones against the window?!_ Numbers’s anger makes him slur the signs..

_\- Sorry...show you...come on._

In the darkness he doesn't get half of the signs Cassidy does because his eyes have yet to fully adjust.

_\- What? I can't SEE a fucking thing out here._

\- _Come_. Cassidy signs again.

Yet, Numbers just stands there arms crossed, lips pressed together and squints at him.

Cassidy grabs his wrist and pulls him along further down the gentle slope, around the apple tree and away from the house.

At first he is too surprised to resist and then realizes that anything is better than to discuss this right under the windows of the extended family. Above all, Numbers is painfully aware of Cassidy touching him. Cold fingers hold on to warm skin.

Finally, the kid lets go of him and he draws a deep breath.

“ _\- What is this?!_ ” Numbers exclaims as he takes in the surroundings.

 _\- Two chairs and a lantern on a table? What are you? A M-O-R-O-N?_ Cassidy smirks.

Numbers feels his face grow hot and is glad that it's too dark to see. He stares at the assortment of things laid out there. Two lawn chairs, one next to the other. Behind those is a small table with a lantern that gives off a soft, dimmed light. There are blankets on the chairs.

 _\- Sit._ Cassidy signs. He's determined to do this. He's got Numbers this far, he's going to drag him to a chair if need be.

_“- No WAY am I going to SIT with you here. It's freezing cold. It's the middle of the night! Are you drunk or merely stupid?! What were you thinking?”_

Cassidy remains adamant. - _God, are you always that whiny? B-I-T-C-H. SIT._

“- _I'm not gonna sit there with you. Forget it C-A-S-S-I-D-Y._ ” Numbers is yelling. He can feel the fear well up inside of him and the anger at being too helpless to fend this off. Is this supposed to be some kind of date?! _Oh God, no._

_\- You’re a real asshole, aren’t you?_

_“FUCK YOU,”_ Numbers spits and turns around to storm off.

But Cassidy is not going to let him off the hook. Not this time. He grabs Numbers's arm and pulls him back with a jerk.

Numbers glares, nostrils quivering.

Cassidy's face softens. - _Please_ , he signs. - _All I ask is 5 minutes of your time. You can go then if you want. Five minutes._

Numbers is all worked up. He wants to rip Cassidy's arm out for touching him, but he's also fucking frightened because there's a serious chance he might like this. No, not THIS, like HIM.

“Do not touch me.” he mouths.

 _\- Sorry. I didn't mean for it go like this. I really just want to sit down with you. With them not around._ Cassidy points back to the house. _\- That's all, I swear._

Numbers is speechless. Did anyone ever ask him to like... simply be there. Honestly ask for him to stay.

He shakes his head, can't believe he is doing this but nevertheless sinks down in one of the chairs. For the time being, he is defeated.

Cassidy slinks into the second chair and throws his blanket at Numbers.

_\- Here. Don't freeze your pretty ass off._

Grumbling, Numbers takes the additional blanket, drapes it over himself and leans back in the chair.

_\- What now?_

Cassidy points up at the sky. _\- We look at the stars._

 _Oh god this IS a date._  
For a few moments Numbers stares at the sky, a vast and dark expanse. It is a cloudless night and the blackness is dotted with a multitude of glittering stars.  
Then he faces Cassidy again.

_“- Nice. But I don't know anything about stars.”_

_\- You have to know SOMEthing. Everyone knows a thing or two about the night sky._

Numbers shrugs and looks up again. After a while he points at an especially bright and shiny star.

“ _\- That is probably S-I-R-I-U-S,_ ” he signs.

 _\- Yes, it is._ Cassidy nods.  
_\- Do you know to which C-O-N-S-T-E-L-L-A-T-I-O-N it belongs?_

“- _What's this? Some kind of question and answer game? No, I do not know._ ” Numbers grumbles.

Cassidy ignores the jibe. He taps Numbers on the shoulder, points towards Sirius.

“Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky because it is so close rather than bright in itself. It is part of Canis Major, the Great Dog. Look!” He draws the lines connecting the stars of the constellation in the sky with his finger.

Numbers raises an eyebrow.

“The Great dog is the constellation that accompanies Orion on his hunt for Lepus, the rabbit, across the night sky together with Canis Minor. In Greek and Roman mythology it represents the watch dog guarding the woman Europa…”

“ _\- How do you know all this shit?_ ” Numbers asks.

Cassidy laughs. _\- I had a lot of time to think about the night sky in this shithole. Also, I do occasionally read a book or two. You should try it some time._

“ _\- I did, in the end I came out learning this shit..._ ” he waves the palms of his hands at him.

Cassidy's gut clenches. _Right. How did Numbers learn all of this so fast. And why._

But Numbers's thoughts have already wandered back to the stars. “Oh what the hell,” he says “ _-Tell me another story about these,_ ” he gestures toward the sky and then leans back in the chair again.

“Hmmm,” Cassidy leans over and takes the other's chin gently in his hand to direct his gaze towards a certain constellation.  
  
Numbers's skin tingles at the touch of sweaty fingers. _Fuck_ , he doesn't even dare to dream what these hands would feel like...

“This is Gemini, the Twins. Can you see the two brighter stars right next to each other? They form a constellation. It’s supposed to be like these two stick figures…” Cassidy again draws imaginary lines into the sky.

A tentative nod.

“Gemini belongs to the signs of the zodiac but it also tells a tale from Greek mythology. The two brightest stars represent Castor and Pollux, twin brothers born to queen Leda. While Castor was fathered by king Tyndareus of Sparta, Pollux' father is said to be Zeus. Because the same night that Castor was conceived, Leda dreamed that she lay with a swan. Only it wasn't a dream and the swan was really Zeus.  
Pretty sick, huh?”

Numbers nods.

“Anyway, twins were born. Pollux, son of Zeus, immortal and godlike, the brighter star. Castor, mortal but nevertheless the son of a king. They were said to be great fighters, boxers and tamers of legendary steeds. They bashed in a lot of heads, I guess.”  
“And while they were revered as proud warriors, they were also quarrelsome, careless men. Castor and Pollux stole the brides of their cousins Lynceus and Idas. This started an ongoing family feud."  
"One day, while they were trying to steal their cousins’ cattle, Castor was injured severely by Idas. Only a mortal human being, however, he died of the wounds he sustained. Which grieved his brother Pollux so much that he asked Zeus to make them both immortal; so they could be together forever. The wish was granted and they were transformed into stars. Immortal. Shining forever in the night sky side by side.”

Numbers contemplates the stars in question for a while before he faces Cassidy.

“ _\- THAT is the cheesiest, most twisted bullshit story I have heard in a LONG time,_ ” he says solemnly.

 _\- You bet your ass it is!_ Cassidy crosses his arms. _\- I'd rather be transformed into a stone than to be chained to my brother forever._

Numbers chuckles, the amusement clearly visible on his face. “ _\- I liked the story, though._ ”

_\- Thank you._

“ _\- Is this how you impress the girls?_ ” _Oh Shit._ As soon as the words are out, Numbers regrets saying them.

_\- I don't impress girls. Not on purpose at least._

The way Cassidy looks at Numbers makes him uneasy. He squirms a little in his chair but doesn't reply. _Careful now._

At last Numbers gets up and throws the blankets at Cassidy.

_“- I think you got your 5 minutes, didn't you? It’s fucking cold. I'm going back to bed.”_

Cassidy nods. Beggars can't be choosers. _\- I think I'll just stay for a while longer.  
_ And he watches the other trudge off towards the house.


	8. Chapter 8

Numbers can't sleep. He lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, freezing and shivering from the cold outside even under the duvet.  
As he wonders for the hundredth time whether Cassidy is still sitting out there to watch the sky, he can hear footsteps. Wooden stairs creak relentlessly under light steps.  
Somebody tries to sneak past to his room.  
Then the sound stops dead right in front of the door and Numbers catches himself holding his breath.  
He exhales noisily and rolls eyes at himself. _You fucking idiot Numbers. What are you? A 12-year-old?!  
_ Nothing happens for a few minutes. It feels like ages.

 _That's it._ He throws off the duvet, switches on the lamp and rushes to the door.

When he opens it, Cassidy gapes at him, wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights of a car.

 _“- Are you insane? Loitering at my door in the middle of the night?”_ Numbers hisses.

With a firm grasp around the other's arm, he pulls Cassidy into the room and closes the door.

“ _\- Your brother sees you, he's going to kill the both of us._ ” Numbers gestures, wildly spitting out words, signing insults.

Cassidy doesn't get a single one of them. He simply stares at Numbers who's naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. He takes in the firm black-haired chest, tattoos all over the arms and upper body, follows the thick trace of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of the boxers. _Oh fuck. Probably he's dead already and this is like his personal hell. Only watching but no touching. Ugh. Showing forever what's out of reach._

When Numbers realizes that the other doesn't respond, he punches him on the shoulder once more.

“ _\- Look at my fucking face._ ”

Only then Cassidy snaps out of his trance.

 _\- I'm not sorry?_ he says.

 _“- What?!”_ Numbers isn't sure he got that right.

 _\- I'm NOT sorry,_ Cassidy repeats.

Now Numbers is the one who gawks stupidly, not knowing how to react.

 _\- Fuck you. I'm not sorry for staring. I'm not sorry because I like you. I'm not sorry for thinking about you at all. OK? I'm so sick of feeling bad about this._ Cassidy’s hands are flying, the expression on his face defiant as he takes a step closer.

Numbers is breathing hard, chest heaving and sinking as he sucks in air through flared nostrils. _What the fuck!? One moment you're at work - on a simple mission at that - and you think you have the world under your thumb and the next thing you know everything goes fucking crazy.  
_ How he hates it, the messy things, the feelings and the confusions. All the things he cannot control. Shitty emotions.

And suddenly he realizes how tired he is. Tired, cold and alone.  
He blinks in irritation and runs both hands through his hair.

"- _You know what? I'm... NO. ... Why can't we simply go to bed and have a good night's sleep? I'm fucking exhausted. And COLD. I can't deal with this right now. Please._ ”

Cassidy's eyes widen. Did Numbers just invite him to stay? He was ready for a fight, for tearing each other apart if need be, ready to defend himself, but he wasn't quite ready for this.

“ _-Look, you can either get the fuck out or come to bed already._ ” Numbers repeats his offer, slowly regaining a bit of his usual self-composure. “- _Personally, I'd prefer option number two but it's up to you. I’m done with fighting for today._ ”

Cassidy doesn't reply, instead he pulls off his sweater and shirt in one move and gets rid of his pants and socks.  
Meanwhile, Numbers has already turned away and is on his way back to bed.  
As Cassidy switches off the lamp and slips under the covers, the other is facing away from him, lying on his side.

For a few moments Cassidy is not sure what to do. He is shaky and a little sick and dizzy from excitement, even though he's flat on his back, eyes closed. And he's afraid somehow that the man next to him will get angry if he touches him in the wrong way.  
While he tries to figure out what to do, Numbers starts blindly groping in the dark until he finds Cassidy's hand and tucks at it impatiently.  
In an instant, Cassidy snuggles up to Numbers, spoons him, left arm draped over him and greedily inhales the smell of the other's hair. _Oh god._ He's glad that Numbers is freezing cold as his crotch presses against him because even now he can feel the erection coming on.

Emitting a satisfied grunt, Numbers let's himself be enfolded by the warmth of Cassidy's body. He can feel the boner pressed to his butt and happily wiggles his ass against it. But he's too tired to do anything else right now. Exhaustion and the new-found warmth pull him towards sleep and soon he's snoring softly.

To be so close to Numbers is the best and the worst feeling at once. Cassidy's skin tingles all over; his heart pounds like mad in his chest. And the way Numbers's ass rubs against his cock is so sweet, it's painful to bear knowing that the other is already in dreamland. Yet, somehow he manages to fall asleep after a while.


	9. Chapter 9

A weight presses heavily on his chest as he lies on his back. When Numbers opens his eyes, he realizes that it is Cassidy, sprawled out over him. He seems to be fast asleep, head resting against Numbers's right shoulder.  
He contemplates the sleeping body in fascination. The skin is white in the morning light and he can make out a multitude of tiny freckles. The thick red curls on Cassidy's head shimmer and an instant desire to bury his hands in them wells up in him.  
Instead, he lightly traces his fingertips over the freckled shoulder and down Cassidy’s back.  
The last thing he wants is for him to wake up, but he cannot completely resist to touch the other either. For the time being, Numbers is content. The bed is warm and cozy, and the man in it with him is fucking beautiful.  
A lot of last night's anger seems to be gone – temporarily at least - replaced by a fuzzy feeling in his chest and a good deal of lust.  
But eventually, Cassidy stirs and opens his eyes. He looks up and moves his upper body slightly to the right so he can see the other’s face.

“Hey…” Numbers gives him an embarrassed smile.

In reply, Cassidy simply kisses him on the lips.  
Numbers closes his eyes and tentatively opens his mouth, allowing their tongues to meet, touch and probe carefully. He is eager to feel up every inch of Cassidy, enjoy the warmth of his breath. His hand moves behind the other’s head and draws him closer into the kiss. Their noses brush.  
Now Cassidy is sucking at his lips, biting him softly, moaning into his mouth and Numbers can feel the hard-on press against his legs.  
The kiss heats up until their teeth are eagerly clicking together, tongues frantically intertwined. As Cassidy buries his fingers in black hair and pulls, Numbers slides a hand into the other’s boxers to squeeze his ass.

Suddenly Numbers disengages himself from the kiss, frowning, and puts a finger to his lips.  
“Hush.”  
_Oh fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Where's the boy? Looks like he hasn't been here all night!” Hammer grunts.  
“Maybe he stayed at a friend's house.” Dovetail answers. A door is being shut and feet move outside along the corridor.  
“Who should that be... this Gavin type?” Hammer laughs angrily. 

“What?” Cassidy mouths, a look of utter confusion on his face.  
“Hammer and Dovetail are looking for you.” He swallows hard. 

“What about Numbers, he up yet?” It is Hammers voice again.  
“Don't think so. No. Should be in his room.”  
“Then wake HIM up at least...”  
“Are you crazy?” Dovetail sounds indignant. “I'm not going in there!”  
“Then maybe I should do it!” Hammer half shouts. 

“Shit.” Numbers hisses, his whole body tensing up.  
“What?”  
“Door isn’t locked...”  
Cassidy’s face goes white. That Hammer and Dovetail are looking for him is one thing. It's not the first time he’s been ‘away’ over night.  To burst in on them in here, however... _Not good_. 

“I'm not going in and you're not going either. Let the man sleep, if he isn't awake already by now.”  
“And why should I?” Hammer appears to be dead set on a confrontation.  
“Because,” Dovetails points out, “he's going to be a cranky bastard and BITCH about it. He's going to complain the whole day long.”  
All of a sudden Hammer bursts out laughing.  
“Hahaha, yeah... Right! God, the guy can be fucking annoying. Always bitching about SOMEthing. We’ll leave him be.” 

To Numbers's relief, they’re walking away down the stairs. He lets out a deep breath. _That was fucking close._  
“They're gone,” he whispers.  
Cassidy nods, color returning to his cheeks and after a few seconds he gets up, walks over to the door and turns the key in the lock. _So far, so good._

When Cassidy comes back to bed, Numbers can’t help but notice the massive tent in his boxers.  
The other man follows his gaze and looks down at himself. _Oops_.  
He simply shrugs _– Never seen a guy sport an erection for you before?_

By now Numbers is sitting up in bed _– Don't flatter yourself too much,_ he signs with a look of amusement spreads.  
_\- Why not?_ And with a swift motion Cassidy pulls down the boxers and steps out of them.

  _Does the guy know no shame? Obviously not._ Numbers blinks, staring at the other's cock in disbelief. It's fucking huge and thick, curved slightly upwards. And he is pretty sure he wants it badly. Like right now.  
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, painfully aware of his own boner pressing against the fabric of his underwear.  
When he opens them again, Cassidy already stands at the foot of the bed.

_\- No snide comment?_

“ _\- Nope,_ ” he coughs.

Then Cassidy pulls away the duvet and crawls onto the bed.  
Numbers has the vague idea that this would be a good time to stop him, but he doesn't say a word. No. He simply watches, transfixed by the image of Cassidy, stark naked, closing in on him. 

Cassidy doesn't give a fuck whether Numbers will eventually push him off the bed or not. But it doesn't seem likely judging by how he devours him with his eyes.  
He's far from innocent and he's going to prove it.

Fingers hook under the waistband of Numbers's shorts and he squirms a little at the touch. _Uh._  
Carefully, Cassidy pulls down the boxers and frees his erect cock.  
Numbers shuts his eyes for a moment in sweet anticipation.  
And then a hand closes around the base of his dick, a thumb softly strokes him, teasing. _Oh heavens._  
When the hand is replaced by a tongue licking up and down his shaft, though, he can't help but watch.  
Cassidy glances up at him and then engulfs his throbbing dick with his lips.  
  
_Holy Shit_.  
He moans loudly and a shiver runs through him as the warmth closes around him. 

Pleased with himself, Cassidy takes in how Numbers writhes under his touch. While he starts sucking on the other’s dick, his right hand moves up along his belly brushing through thick black hair.

Fingernails scrape Numbers's skin and scratch down his abs; he can't hold back anymore.  
He grabs Cassidy by the hair, pulling him down on his cock and thrusts upward deep into his throat. 

For a second Cassidy gags around him but quickly settles into the rhythm Numbers so desperately needs, fast and hard.  
He can't believe he's fucking this pretty face. _Oh god.  
_ When a hand seizes his crotch, he knows he's done for. He's going to be pushed over the edge soon.

As Cassidy twirls his tongue around Numbers's dick and feels up his balls, he is aware of the hot body squirming, tensing up. On cue he gulps down the other's cock once more, squeezing him hard. And that is it.  
Numbers comes, spilling cum deep in his mouth and down his throat. His back arches and his body vibrates with moans of pleasure.  
Cassidy swallows and the taste of salty come spreads in his mouth. _So good.  
_ Then he carefully licks Numbers's cock clean and smacks his lips. 

Numbers tilts back his head and pulls Cassidy up towards him by the hair. He kisses the other hungrily once more but this time he tastes his own cock and cum on him.  
  
Only too eager to continue, Cassidy presses down on his shoulders with strong hands until Numbers is fully on his back again and then he straddles him. His own cock aches for release as he rubs it against the hairy belly of his partner. 

Never even breaking the kiss, Numbers reaches for Cassidy’s buttocks with one hand. The other closes around the throbbing boner already wet with precum. He begins to tease the tip with his thumb and Cassidy moans loudly.  
Now Numbers starts to move up and down the shaft, picking up a pace while the other man's balls slap against him with each thrust. He’s sure he has never seen anything more satisfying and beautiful than the look of abandon on his face.  
With a grunt that Numbers is sure can be heard on the entire second floor, Cassidy cums all over his belly, then collapses, spent and happy, next to him on the bed.

Numbers looks down at himself to assess the sticky mess. He’s probably going to have to burn the bed sheets before he leaves. Maybe the whole bed. 

He turns to face Cassidy beside him and kisses him on the shoulder.

 _\- I think you need to take a shower_ , Cassidy signs.

_“- And whose fault is that?!”_

_\- Yours of course._

They both sit up in bed.

After a while, Cassidy can’t help but ask.

 _-What’s going to happen now_?

 _“- I’m going to clean myself up is what’s going to happen.”_ Numbers retorts.

 _\- That’s not what I mean._ Cassidy bites his lips, too shy to meet the other’s eyes directly.

At the back of his mind Numbers registers the first strong tuck of guilt and embarrassment.

 _“- Honestly? I- I don’t know… this is not. I mean… We CAN’T. Oh shit…”_ he falls silent, resting his hands in his sticky lap. _DAMMIT_. _EW._  

Cassidy simply nods. He knew this, didn’t he? Somewhere in his head he knew the whole time. Nobody would commit to him in the end. And the last person to expect anything from was Numbers. Especially, when even the only gay guy his own age in  town wouldn’t really have him. _Fuck Gavin. And fuck Numbers, too._  
He buries his face in his hands and sighs. If he had known all along, why did it still hurt so darn much?

 _“- You see… I’m…I’m really…”_  
Cassidy grabs Numbers's hands and holds them still. He shakes his head.  
“Don’t you dare say that to my face. Don’t you dare to apologize.”

 

 

~~~

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Even though he is invited to stay another night, Numbers is eager to leave the place today. He had planned to draw the visit out a bit, get some time off on the side but after this morning he is convinced it would be a bad idea. He doesn’t think he can trust himself with Cassidy.

It didn’t take long for paranoia and anxiety to hit him hard in the gut. Under the shower he already cringed with guilt, washing off cum, rubbing his belly clean. What the fuck had gotten into him to pull such a stunt. It was unprofessional. It was pathetic and weak.  
A look in the mirror confirmed his fears. He was disgusted by the man he saw. Almost thirty with black circles under his eyes but still sporting the pudgy cheeks of a fucking chipmunk. _C-H-U-B-B-Y cheeks_.  
Maybe he should grow a beard.  
He poked himself in the face with a finger, probing. Yeah, he would definitely skip shaving today.

When he came downstairs, Cassidy had been conspicuously absent. And he did not return for the rest of the day.  
Numbers didn’t dare to ask any questions though, considering the fact that Dovetail probably thought Cassidy hadn’t been around all night in the first place.  
Instead, he just went through the motions, discussed what would be on their agenda once they had moved closer to Fargo, explaining the kind of operation Hammer was expected to preside over and what would happen to Dovetail. What she would have to do for the syndicate.  
He avoided to talk about Cassidy and nobody asked any questions either. It was as if the boy didn’t exist at all for long stretches of time in their minds while Numbers constantly had to push the thought of him away.  
They would look for Cassidy when they realized that something was absent from the breakfast table. But they didn’t seem to really give a shit in the long run. Maybe Dovetail did. Maybe she just didn’t anymore, now that he was old enough to take care of himself. Numbers couldn’t fathom it.

And so their day had crept by relentlessly slow. Syrupy, it had streched out vast and empty.

  
The sun has set and chill night air seeps through Numbers’s thin gloves as he says goodbye to Dovetail and walks to the car.  
Just when he gets the key out of his coat pocket, Cassidy rounds the corner with another boy in tow.  
_“– Wait!”  
__Just perfect._ He had almost made his escape unscathed. Of course that was too much to ask for.

Cassidy motions to the other kid to stand back at first but then seems to say some sort of awkward goodbye. He shoots a glance at the house as if making sure his sister is gone and then gives his companion a hug.  
The other boy is almost as tall as Cassidy and appears to be of the same age. In the glow of the streetlights Numbers can make out a fuzzy wisp of a beard, too.  
He opens the car and tosses the keys on the Impala’s driver’s seat but waits for Cassidy to approach, leaning on the door frame. 

 _“- Was that your boyfriend? Did you make up with him alright?”_ Numbers snaps, hands spitting out signs. He can’t help himself.

But Cassidy merely cocks an eyebrow in reply.

– _Are you leaving already?_

_“- Looks like it, wouldn’t you say so?”_

_\- Yes. Yes, it does._

_“- Then what do you want?”_ Numbers is impatient to get in the car and off the hook. Leave this behind and forget about it. _Try_.

 _\- I still need to ask you one thing_ , Cassidy says. _I want you to stay,_ he thinks.

A pang of fear hits Numbers, and he is aware of the lump in his throat but nods nevertheless.

_\- How did you learn ASL so fast?_

_What?_ He frowns, taken aback by the question.

_“- I read your fucking book.”_

_\- Nobody learns ASL from a book like this in 8 months. Sorry. Not you nor anybody._

Numbers’s face reddens and he hopes that it is too dim to see.  
_“- I had a teacher,”_ he says.

The other tilts his head, _\- You had what?_

“- _I read the book. I looked at videos. But it wasn’t enough. So I had somebody teach me how to do it properly in a conversation._ ” Numbers rolls his eyes. This is ridiculous.

\- _Why?_

“ _\- You said one question. I answered it. And now leave me be,”_ his hands clench into fists.

Cassidy takes a step back from the car and Numbers grabs the keys, then slinks into the driver’s seat.  
At the last possible moment, though, the other comes forward again, ducks into the car and sneaks a quick kiss on his lips.  
Before Numbers can react, Cassidy slams the door shut and runs off towards the house.

He hesitates, absentmindedly brushing a finger over his mouth but then starts the car.  
Soon the radio blurts out voices as the black Chevy speeds along empty streets.  
He’s going to drive all night, stop only for coffee. It means that he’ll be early at his next location but right now he wants nothing more than a task to occupy his mind. _Work will do._


	11. Chapter 11

The first letter arrives after only 5 days.  
When Dovetail announces that he has ‘mystery mail’, Cassidy frowns.

_“- I have what?”_

_“- You’ve got mail.”_ She hands over a white envelope to him.

Cassidy takes it from her and turns it over.

_“- Don’t bother, there’s no return address.”_

After some further contemplation he uses the butter knife to slice open the paper, painfully aware of Dovetail and Hammer staring at him from across the kitchen table.  
It contains nothing but a single photograph of the night sky.  
Cassidy stares at the picture in disbelief.

 _“- Well, what is it?”_ Dovetail asks, tapping him on the arm to get his attention.

He shrugs and flips the image over to show them.

“Err. A fucking photograph? Of the stars. Who sent you this? Some idiot GIRL?” Hammer laughs spitting cereal bits across the table.

Dovetail elbows him in the ribs. “Shut up you moron. The boy got his first love letter.”

Cassidy ignores them because he is desperate to compose his face as he reads the two lines scrawled on the back over and over again.  
_You ruined the fucking stars for me. How dare you._

Finally, he puts the photo in his pocket and leaves the table. He has to go somewhere private or he’ll burst. His heart is pounding madly and a lump forms in the pit of his stomach. Is Numbers sending him hate mail or love letters? He doesn’t have a clue.

 

Numbers is drunk as a skunk as he sits on the floor and sifts though his box of photographs. If he has something close to a hobby, it is this. Photography. Fargo doesn’t know of course. He’s sure they wouldn’t approve of an employee taking images of work sites even if they are weird artsy things that don’t reveal anything.  
For some reason he always has a small box of pictures in his car hidden in the trunk. Some of his favorites are in there. Whenever he feels agitated, something goes wrong or a fit of anxiety takes hold of him, he looks at them. It soothes him and has kept his neurotic tendencies under control. The calm and icy composure other people usually see is a finely attuned mask. And at hours like this it is perilously close to coming off.

Today his method only works until he comes across the collection of night sky images he did a year ago.  
He had forgotten they were in there…  
The sight enrages him instantly. _FUCK IT._ The first photo is angrily torn to bits and pieces and strewn across the motel room floor.  
Can he never get rid of the boy?

The day he arrived on site he immediately went out to have a drink and ended up furiously fucking a guy up the ass until he was raw and empty. But getting rid of his horniness hadn’t done anything to help. He'd felt like an idiot and now he did even more so. Besides, he was still angry.  
Tonight he had tried a woman who had started flirting with him as he entered the bar. He wasn’t even choosy anymore. He just wanted the deed done. Spill himself into a condom and float off into another place entirely.  
As soon as they were finished though, he’d thrown her out of the room. She had been beside herself but he was drunk and irritated and after he had started shouting at her to fuck off, she had picked up her clothes and left. Not without slapping him across the face, however. _Good_.  
He knew then that his actions were severely jeopardizing the mission and therefore his own safety. It was time to start the emergency procedures.  
And the only thing he knew to do in order to contain himself, was to go through his photos. It had been a long time since he had really needed to do that.

Now this.  
Pictures of the stars. _Really?_  
After ripping the first one apart, he sobers a little, realizing that if he shreds his art, he severs his life lines with it.  
He turns the next photo over in his hands. The thing is scorched earth, it triggers his aggression rather than soothing it. Yet, it is still his. It's still his.  
_Uh, but not for long!_

Numbers gets up from the carpet and sways on his feet, intoxicated with liquor and lack of sleep. There's a ballpoint pen on the nightstand.  
Kneeling down, he places the photograph on the table and grabs the pen. It's a little hard to write in a hand that's half-way legible but he manages two sentences at least.  
Then he rummages through his things and pocures a fresh envelope. The hardest part is to scribble the address on it. When he seals the thing he accidentally cuts his tongue on the paper. _Sure, why not?_ The metallic taste of blood mixes with the bitterness of glue.  
Now he has to get it on its way. _Uh._

He fathoms that dressing might be a good idea so he puts on a pair of jeans and a shirt.  
_Shoes_.  
He puts these on as well and starts off across the parking lot to the motel's office.

 

The night clerk stares at the guy in the t-shirt coming in at 3 in the morning. There is snow outside, it's fucking freezing. Another nutjob to deal with. _Just keep calm and see what he wants.  
_

Numbers stumbles through the door and a set of tiny bells jingles overhead. He looks up furiously, then staggers up to the counter and puts the envelope on the table.

“What a wonderful night,” he slurs.  
He can feel night clerk guy seize him up.  
“I need to get a letter posted. Like – umm, now.”

The other takes the envelope from him and nods. A whiff of alcohol fumes hits him in the face.  
“Uh-hu. We usually don't do this but I think I can make an exception.” The last thing he needs is a ranting drunk in the office during the middle of the night.

“Excellent.” Numbers puts a ten dollar note on the counter.  
“For your troubles,” he adds.

The guy looks at the money, then at Numbers.  
“O-kay...”

“Nice working with you,” Numbers says grinning and salutes the clerk with a wild movement, turning on his heels.

As he makes his way back, the cold finally creeps into his bones. _Oh shit._ He is so exhausted. Once he's in his room, he locks the door, kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the bed dozing off into a dreamless sleep.

 

~~~

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

He wakes up face down in his own saliva to a sledge hammer pounding in his head. _Oh fuck._ What exactly happened last night? Through the throbbing pain and hangover mists he vaguely remembers a woman and some shagging perhaps. And a bottle of Vodka. That, too.  
As he rolls on his back and tries to get in an upright position, the room starts to spin and his stomach reels. _Oops._  
After a few minutes he dares to swing his feet out of bed and steps into a mess of paper shreds.  
The photographs, right. He went through the photos and then... _Wait. Oh.  
_ A realization hits Numbers. He sent a letter, didn't he? _Fuck_. Yes, he sent a picture to Cassidy.  
Now if he could remember what exactly he wrote on the photo that would be something. But he has the dim notion it wasn't anything too sweet judging by the alcohol intake he'd had. 

A fuckload of painkillers, a shower and three cups of coffee later he feels like he can probably survive another day.  
Maybe the night clerk didn't even send the stupid letter. He went in there shit-faced as hell, probably wasn't very nice either.  
He will sit this one out and pull himself together from now on. No more 'love' notes. No nothing.

 

Only a few days after the first letter, a second envelope arrives. This time Hammer is not around, so it is Dovetail again who hands it over to him.

\- _You have a secret admirer or something?_ she asks candidly.

\- _NO,_ Cassidy blushes. _\- Just give me the darn thing and leave me be._

 _\- Alright, alright,_ Dovetail laughs.

But she has turned the letter over and over quite a few times this morning and is pretty sure that she recognizes the handwriting on it from her bookkeeping. The sample on the first envelope was scrawled and a little blotched. This one is neatly made out, almost drawn across the paper by a meticulous hand. _Numbers's hand_.  
Yet, Dovetail has decided to keep quiet about it – at least for now. It's never wise to pry too deeply into Numbers's matters. She had to learn that the hard way a few years ago when she nosed through his notebook… and got the broken pinkie to show for it. 

Cassidy takes the letter up to his room before he rips it open with trembling hands.  
There's another photograph in it. It shows vast expanse of fields covered in snow and a deserted highway at dawn. That's it. Cold and empty.  
When he turns the photo over to look at the backside there's no message. Not a single word.  
He stares at the picture again.  
_Is this some kind of joke?_ After the last message he had longed for an explanation. Some sign whether this is good, bad or just batshit crazy.  
However, the new letter resolves nothing.  
Is it supposed to be a representation of how Numbers feels? Something about inner desolation and loneliness? He doesn't get it.  _WTF?_  
The bile rises in his throat. What is he to make of it? And not even having the opportunity to answer!  
An old familiar feeling creeps up and takes hold of him. The recollection of people silencing him, refusing to acknowledge his presence surfaces. His siblings dismiss him by simply turning away. Y _ou want to be heard? Then use your fucking voice._ Hammer grunts and slaps him across the face. 

He puts the photograph in the desk drawer where the first one is already waiting. Then he sits on the window sill, hugging his legs.  
The conflict in his chest absorbs him completely. He is flattered beyond measure by the idea that Numbers can't stop thinking about him. That he is on the other's mind enough to merit his attention. But he's also enraged by the fact that he is doomed to sit here and accept everything that is sent to him. It galls him that he is unable to reply, to demand explanations, to ask Numbers what the fuck this is supposed to signify. Why can't he just write him a letter like a normal person? 

 

As soon as Dovetail and Hammer are out of the house next day, Cassidy sneaks up to his sister's room. There has to be some kind of address book, something that can give him a clue of how to reach Numbers. He just hopes that she doesn't keep it at the office or has already started to pack things up for their move to Fargo.  
Cassidy opens the door and looks around. Everything is kept neat and tidy in here. The bed is made, clothes are draped over a chair and the desk is nearly empty. If he didn’t know better, he'd say THIS was the guest room.  
First, he opens the desk drawers. In one of them are writing materials, pens, pencils, markers. The second drawer has paper, empty notebooks, sticky notes, nothing of importance. The desk turns out to be a dead end. _Dammit_.  
Next he takes a look at the book shelves. But the books are just that, private reading materials. Nothing is work related. He even takes out some of the novels, searche for hidden slips of paper inside.  
Then he opens the closet. It’s full of his sister’s clothes, pullovers, jeans, dresses and at the bottom are a shoe rack and a cardboard box. He pulls it out and peeks inside but to his dismay it’s full of memorabilia. Old family photos, a stuffed dog, a jar with Canadian dollars, a girl’s hair pins and ribbons… With a deep sigh he puts the box back into the closet.  
Cassidy's hope to find anything useful begins to fade. Perhaps it was a stupid idea to begin with.  
But as he stares absent-mindedly at the desk he notices something curious. The uppermost left drawer is a little larger than the others. Yet when searching through them he could have sworn it was as roomy as the right-hand drawer on the inside.  
It's worth a try. He opens the desk once more and takes out all the pens and writing materials. The bottom of the drawer looks inconspicuous enough. He's sure now, though,  that it should be bigger inside. Carefully, Cassidy inspects it, feeling around. In the right corner, way back, there's a small hole big enough to latch his pinkie into. And then he manages to pry the wooden bottom plate lose. He can't believe it. A secret compartment. _Really? Ridiculous.  
_ There are two notebooks hidden inside. One is filled with figures and calculations only. The other is full of cryptic messages but in the back is a section that contains addresses. _Bingo_.  
Cassidy browses through the notes. Names he doesn't recognize. Places he knows nothing about. And then there is a P.O. box address filed under '#'.  
That's it, that's what he was looking for. HAS to be it.  
He pulls a piece of paper from the second drawer and scribbles the address on it. Then he puts everything back the way it was.

The rest of the day he spends in his room. He writes a dozen letters but each ends up a crumpled ball in the wastebasket.  
Only when he rests his hands on the empty white paper, he realizes what he needs to do even if it will take him all night.

The next morning Cassidy posts a letter to a P.O. box in Fargo, crossing his fingers that the letter will reach Numbers personally and not anybody else or – worse - get lost in the mail. He didn't add a return address, so there's no way of knowing i that happens.

 

~~~

 

 


	13. Interlude 2

**March 23, 1990**

He takes a sip of coffee and browses idly through the pack of mail. After more than two weeks of absence, a lot of shit has accumulated.  
_Great_. An APB he needed 4 weeks ago has finally turned up. Only the guy mentioned in it is already dead...  
_And what's this?_  
Numbers pulls a thick oblong envelope out of the remaining pile. There are none of the usual markings on it, just his P.O. box address. He squeezes the envelope- paper only he guesses. Eventually, Numbers slices it open with a knife and peers inside.  
As he unfolds the contents, he almost chokes on his coffee.  
It's a drawing – or, several drawings. It looks like a study of hands. Beautiful hands done in pencil. And the hands fingerspell something.  
Numbers swallows hard as he reads.

**DON'T SILENCE ME, IDIOT.**

_Jesus fucking Christ._ His cheeks are on fire and his stomach roils as a wave of shame crashes down on him and he is seized by a strange panic. Beads of sweat break on Numbers's brow.  
For the time being, he can't even move, only stare at the drawing.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Early April, 1990**

 

The moving van is one of Hammer’s small trucks from work and it comes with an assortment of dubious employees that help to put the furniture and boxes inside.  
Cassidy makes it a point to carry his personal belongings himself. He doesn’t trust his brother and the last thing he wants is for one of the gorillas to paw through his stuff. Not that he owns much, but still.

It takes them until early in the afternoon to finish packing up. And when it’s done, Cassidy is happy to find out that Hammer will stay behind and ‘supervise’ the move of office equipment.  
That means he’s still condemned to a four hour car ride with his sister but it could be worse.  
When they get into the truck, Cassidy throws her a doubting look.

“What?” Dovetail snorts.

 _“-Just… are you sure you know how to drive this thing?”_ he grins.

 _“-Are you insinuating something young man? If so, maybe you want to give it a shot and WALK to your new home,”_ she stares daggers at him.

“Alright, alright,” he puts up his hands defensively while Dovetail turns the key in the ignition.

The truck moves and they’re on their way.  
  
The thing that pains him a little is to lose the garden and his tree. The rest is all good riddance. Well, maybe except for Gavin?

After a while Dovetail taps him on the arm to get his attention.  
“What about your school buddy. Did you say goodbye?”

Cassidy knits his brow. “Yeah. Whatever. No big deal. I saw him yesterday evening _.” I got a goodbye blowjob from my ‘buddy’ on top of it. But not even a single stupid kiss._

“It’s just that.. you finally seemed to have made a friend. I know it can be hard.”

He squints at her. “What’s this? You trying to pretend you take an interest in me?”

“I _am_ interested,” she replies but she knows it’s a weak defense. Dovetail had always tried to contain Hammer’s violence towards Cassidy. But over the years she had gotten weary of taking care of him alone. She had never had strong surrogate mom feelings to begin with. Well, early on, yes, when he was just a toddler. But after the incident, after it got out of control… she somehow detached, recoiled at what her sense of protection made her do. As a result she merely did what she considered to be her duty, nothing more.

“Listen, let’s drop it, ok? I tell you I’m fine and we can leave it at that.” Cassidy’s replies.

Dovetail shrugs, “If that is what you want.”

“Yes,” he nods, “that and a few hours of staring out of the window in peace.”

She bites her lower lip but says nothing. He’s right. Bad enough they drag him to Fargo for their illegal stuff and make him change High school.  
_Ugh_ , moments like these she utterly hates all family related business.

At first Cassidy is absorbed by the view out side, the cars that go by, the street and the open sky. Yet, after a while he can’t help but think of Numbers. He hasn’t received any sign of life after he has sent off his letter. Is he going to see him in Fargo? Or was that it – his siblings no longer needed any kind of contact person to come out to their place. What if his letter was simply the final straw, the thing that enraged Numbers enough to be fed up with him, eventually.

 

It’s already dark when they arrive at Horace, North Dakota, a small town in the direct vicinity of Fargo.  
The house looks generic in the dark, nothing like the old wooden monster they left behind. It lacks character. There’s a broad paved driveway that leads to a garage and a patch of green with a neat path which accesses the frontdoor of the square two-story building.

Dovetail locks the truck and walks towards the entrance, keys in hand.

Meanwhile, Cassidy lingers behind and stares at the mailbox that faces the street. As his sister has turned her back to him, he opens it and looks inside. He has to stifle a crazy laugh. _The bastard._  
Of course there’s a letter in the mailbox. Cassidy takes it out, quickly surveying the envelope to make sure, and slides it into his pocket.  
At the frontdoor he catches up with Dovetail but his steps have become a little jittery; his mind is racing.  
He longs to be alone and open the letter. Instead, he has to take the house tour with his sister and look at all the rooms, the terrace, the garden… It’s all very far away in his mind and he doesn’t even gather half of the things Dovetail says from her lips.  
What he understands is that they’re not going to unload stuff from the truck right now. They’ll wait for Hammer and his guys to arrive tomorrow and will do the unpacking then. Some makeshift beds of mattresses and blankets have to make due right now. Fine by him.  
They carry everything they need for the night inside and Cassidy brings one of his moving boxes up to the new room. It’s the one with the writing materials and letter in it.

Eventually, he can close the door and is alone. There’s a single naked light bulb that illuminates the temporary bed and the open cardboard box. He sits down and slices the envelope open with shaky hands. Hopefully, it doesn’t contain a death threat – or talcum powder mixed with anthrax.  
Cassidy’s sweaty fingers unfold the paper and there’s writing on it. Actual words.

FINE.  
I’m sorry?  
Please send all further insults to the following address:   
PS: I hate you. A lot.

 _Yeah. I hate you, too,_ he chuckles softly.

Cassidy lies back on the mattress and stares at the ceiling. His insides are fluttery and he wonders if someone has ever hated him this way before. Unlikely. He can vaguely imagine what kind of concession this crappy note signifies on Numbers’s part. Yes, he’d rather received an _I miss you_. Perhaps this was the cranky man’s way of saying it, though? Yeah, that was something he could make himself believe. Could be a delusion - but a damn nice one.

And somehow it reassures him that he will see Numbers again. Let him come in his own time and on his own terms.

 

~~~

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Early May, 1990**

 

Numbers drops the cigarette butt on the street before he shuffles along the freshly-raked pebble path up to the frontdoor. Somebody must have been exceptionally bored. It's only four weeks since they moved here but the front yard is a picture of suburban neatness.  
Dovetail opens the door to welcome him and ushers him into the house through the hallway and into the living room.  
He can't help but raise an eyebrow. The house is brand-new, made over and renovated but the fucking furniture are still the same. He knows that ratty chaiselong and the worn out carpets by heart. Numbers sniffs, put him in a dark room and he'll recognize the darn things by their mouldy smell.

“We didn’t get around to buy any new stuff yet.” Dovetail says and shrugs.

“I see that. Pretty ugly house you have here, too,” he chuckles.

She elbows Numbers in the side, “Idiot.”

He growls at her. “No touching.”

“Sit! I'm getting coffee! You want some cookies?”

“No, all that homeliness is making me sick already. Also, I only have a few minutes. I'm here to deliver a set of instructions to you.” _And a letter to your brother possibly._

Numbers fidgets in his coat pocket and produces a thick envelope that is labelled “Case Files.”

“Did they make you errand boy now?” Dovetail pipes as she goes to the kitchen for coffee.

In reply he merely mutters some obscure words.

 

While Dovetail rummages in the kitchen cupboards, he hears the frontdoor fall shut with a thud. Heavy footsteps come down the hallway and then Cassidy appears in the doorway.  
When he realizes it's Numbers sitting on the sofa, he grins widely.

“Make way Cassidy...” Dovetail taps him on the back with one hand while the other balances a tray with two cups and a plate of cookies.

Cassidy moves a step sideways to let her pass. He winks at Numbers behind his sister's back and trudges off.  
With Numbers around, he can't help but linger downstairs for a little longer. He'll just fix himself something to eat in the kitchen although his belly is a bit queasy now.

 

Numbers sits, momentarily frozen, but as Cassidy leaves, he slowly recovers. He knew this could happen, right? _Pull yourself together._

“No cookies,” I said.

“Yeah whatever, grump. Suit yourself. But _I_ want some.” Dovetail smiles and sets down a mug of black coffee in front of him.

He lets the nickname pass.

“What did you bring me?”

“Love letter from your new partner. The whole welcome package for your assignment, “ Numbers slides the documents across the table at her, all the while keeping an eye on the door.

A chocolate cookie disappers into her mouth. She opens the envelope and leaves  a few sticky fingerprints on the outside.

“Make yourself familiar with the facts in there. I mean it. You meet your partner tomorrow at 10 a.m. The address and the meeting place are in there, too. And PLEASE don't mess it up.”

She cocks an eyebrow, “Yes mum, I'll be a good girl.”

Numbers inhales deeply and lets out a pressed sigh.  
His face turns to stone and his hands lash out and lock her writsts in an iron grip.

“If you fuck this up and survive it, I'll kill you personally. You understand that. Don't you?”

Dovetail nods. You never knew when banter turned into serious business with the guy.

“Good,” he releases her with a sneer. “Now, may I use your bathroom before I leave?”

She bites her lip and swallows the snide comment on her tongue.

“Sure, turn right, down the hallway, second door to the left, first one is the kitchen,” she mumbles as she massages the blood back into her hands.

Numbers nods and gets up.

 

  
As he passes the open kitchen door, he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye.  
It's Cassidy who leans against the counter and drinks a glass of water.

_\- Hello._

Numbers smirks. _Lucky me._ He throws a quick look over his shoulder towards the living room door and then out of a hunch beckons Cassidy to follow him. To hell with it, this is too good an opportunity to waste.

_\- Come on._

The other shrugs and goes after him.

 

A few feet down the hall, Numbers pulls Cassidy into what he hopes is the bathroom and closes the door.

 _\- What is it?_ Cassidy asks. He blinks at Numbers, his brow furrowed. Their proximity makes him nervous.

Now that Numbers has the other right in front of him, he doesn't know what to do exactly. This was an idiotic impulse to follow. How long do they have in here alone? Two, three minutes at best if they keep it safe.  
For a split second their eyes lock.  
And then, without a word, he takes Cassidy's face in his hands, pulls him close and kisses him full on the lips.  
After an initial moment of shock, Cassidy leans into Numbers and offers his mouth to him. Their tongues meet and Numbers presses out a moan that makes the other shudder with pleasure. The warmth and softness of Cassidy's mouth gets to him quickly and he can feel the bulge in his pants grow. _Not now, not here, idiot._  
Somewhere in the back of his head Numbers registers that this is the thing he has craved for weeks. To be close to Cassidy, feel his body pressed against him, taste him, to touch him. It's pathetic really.  
His hands rake through Cassidy’s hair, teeth passionately bite down on hot lips.

Numbers gives a slight whelp when Cassidy places a hand on his crotch. But all the other notices is a little start and then the sweet pleasure of Numbers leaning into him.

Cassidy is the reason he volunteered to carry the letter over personally.  
As soon as Jergen mentioned that Dovetail's first assignment was set, he jumped at it. And when the other man gave him a dubious look, he added that he simply wanted to check in on some old clients. _Yeah, right. Liar._ Not even Jergen is stupid enough to believe that.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling Cassidy's scent one last time and disengages himself from his lips.  
Cassidy withdraws the hand and looks down at the bulge in Numbers's pants. .

_\- Impressive._

_\- Oh shut up!_

_\- What are we doing here?_

Numbers scrunches his nose.

 _\- Don't look so sour. I like the beard._ Cassidy smiles. _– Looks good._ He blurts out stupid comments as his last line of defense against the nervousness that takes hold of him once again.

 _\- Won't you stop already?_ Numbers closes his eyes to block out the other's answer. This was a bad idea. It only proved once more that he was unable to get a grip on himself, to get his urges under control.

He senses Cassidy closing in on him, their foreheads touch, a nose brushes agains his own.

“I missed you.”

Numbers knows his face is flushed as the searing heat of embarassment washes over him. He can't bring himself to say it. He can't. The words stick to his parched throat. All he can do is give in for a second, lean his face against Cassidy's, take another deep breath.  
When he finally pulls away and opens his eyes again, Cassidy still smiles at him. _How can a guy bethis gorgeous? That smile needs to be policed, stored away. It's dangerous. It's cute and sticky and ugh. Disgusting._

 _\- I brought you something,_ Numbers finally manages to get out. It's hard to fully gain control over his hands.

Cassidy cocks his head. _\- Yes?_

In reply Numbers pulls another envelope out of his coat pocket. _\- Photos.  
_ It's more of a small parcel than a letter.

 _\- Take them already before I chicken out!_ Numbers urges and thrusts the envelope at him.

Cassidy snatches the photos out of his hands.

_\- What are they?_

_\- Just some stupid things I made for you._ Numbers grits his teeth.

He turns and makes for the bathroom door.

“- Wait.”

_\- What now?_

Cassisy grins and pointedly flushes the toilet. _\- Gotta keep your act convincing, huh?_

Numbers shakes his head, chuckling, and walks out the door.

 

“Jeez, what did you do in there?” Dovetail asks, hands stemmed in her hips as he approaches.

“You really want to know the details?” he snaps.

“Hell no. Gross,” she makes a faint retching noise.

“Just remember to read the files and be on time tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I will,” her voice falters a little.

Dovetail walks Numbers to the front door.

“Before you go...”

“Uh-hu?” Numbers turns around once more.

“That partner they put me up with...”Dovetail trails off.

“Oh, she's a pro. In every way. Just don't, err, excite her too much. Uh, and don't ever strip down naked in front of her - no matter what. Don't do it,” he grins, exposing white teeth.

“WHAT???”

But Numbers is already a few feet away, laughing softly to himself at the idea of Ms. Letters' and Dovetail's first meeting.


	16. Chapter 16

It takes Dovetail a while to come back to her original thoughts after Numbers is gone but in the end she puts all musings about her partner aside. Surely, Numbers was only making fun of her. _Right...?_  
Something else has been bothering her for some time. Why does Numbers write letters to her brother. Even at their new address she intercepted at least one. She didn't take it out of the mailbox though. Left it right in there so Cassidy wouldn't notice that she knew.  
And what was that just now?  
Dovetail is sure Numbers stopped at the kitchen door and there were two sets of footsteps going to that bathroom. Cassidy sure as hell did NOT walk upstairs. The boy is loud, heavy steps wherever he goes. Even in this fairly new house she can tell when he walks around directly above her head. _Fucking Numbers._ _What is the guy up to?_  
Then there is Gavin. Over the last few days he called repeatedly. First, to ask if Cassidy was okay because he hadn’t heard of him and was worried. He'd written two letters already and never got an answer. The second time he asked if he could leave a message for Cassidy. Had he written back by any chance and the reply got lost? The third time he sounded outright desperate. Would she ask Cassidy to PLEASE contact him? It was very important.  
Dovetail talked to Cassidy about it. She didn't care for their squabble, fall out or whatever it was. But if he didn’t want to speak to Gavin anymore, could he at least tell him? She was not his personal answering machine.

 

 

“Fuck me sideways.” Hammer stomps into the living room where Dovetail sits on the sofa, absorbed in her case file.

“What now?” she looks up at him, eyes narrowing.

“That Gavin boy called. AGAIN,” he puts down the open beer bottle on the couch table and sinks in an armchair.

“What is that all about anyway? Do you know anything?” Hammer grunts.

Dovetail folds the paper in her hand and puts it on the armrest with the others.

“Not really. No.” She shrugs, “Maybe they had a fight?”

Hammer takes a sip from the bottle, puts it back on the table. “Hmmm.”

“I told Cassidy to clear it up three days ago. Write to the boy or whatever. At least advise him not to call anymore.”

“Well, he didn’t, huh? Clear it up.”

Dovetail doesn’t answer but starts reading again.

Her brother reaches for the beer, takes a sip and taps his foot on the floor.  
“Tell me something…”

 _Oh-oh._ She peeks from behind the papers at him. “Yes?”

“Those letters, were they all sent by this Gavin guy?”

Dovetail blinks. _Does he know about some of Numbers's letters, too, or only about the one plus the two actually written by Gavin?_  
“I think so. Yes, why?”  
_Uh, never ask why._ She can practically see the computing process that is going on behind his eyes.

“Even the weird one. The photograph. That one, too?” Hammer squints.

“I guess... I don’t know.” By now she squirms a little in her seat.

“You don't know.” His voice drops a notch, hardens.

“How could I, it didn't have a return address.”

Hammer is loud, a bully, he drinks too much and is prone to violence. He's not particularly smart, but once he's set on something, it's hard to shake the bloodhound off again. Dovetail isn't even sure she wants to go to all the trouble now that she has her own business to take care of. On the other hand, if she doesn't, this could end in a beating for Cassidy. _No good._

“No, I don't know who sent it for sure. The way Gavin acts, it was probably him. Maybe it's the reason why Cassidy doesn't want to talk to him anymore.”

Her brother nods vaguely. “Yeah, figures. You think this is some romance kind of shit between them? Do you?” He puts the bottle on the table with a loud clunking noise.

“What? Well... No? I don't know?! Probably from Gavin’s side, huh?” her eyes widen. _Shit what?_

“Oh don't pretend you do not see it. You EVER saw that idiot brother of ours with a girl? Or hear him talk about one?” Hammer’s face reddens. “I sure didn't. Doesn’t even have posters of naked girls in his room.”

“I didn't see him with a lot of people in the first place,” Dovetail scoffs. “And not every guy in the world plasters his room with pictures of naked women. He's not like you.”

“Yeah. Because he's a weird little shit.”

She clenches a fist. “Don't talk about him like that.”  
  
“As if you care. Whatever. I don't like it. No girlfriend. Hanging out with that Gavin boy all the time. Phone calls, letters...”

“You don't HAVE to like it,” his sister snaps.

“I don't huh?” he raises his voice. “You tell that boy to cut it out. I ever answer the phone and it's that dipshit again, I go upstairs talk to him myself. See if I can punch it out of him.”  
He kicks the table with a foot and then gets up, towering over his sister.  
“You tell him,” Hammer waves a finger at her, “the day I find out he's a fag, I'll give him a beating he'll not recover from.”  
Then he storms out, takes his jacket from the coat rack and slams the door. 

Probably going to the bar to get more drinks.  
Dovetail flares her nostrils. _The fucking asshole._ One of these days she'll quit taking all of this shit. One of these days... hell freezes over. When he doesn't have leverage on her anymore. For now, she needs to give Cassidy a serious talk, warn him.  
She might try to persuade Gavin not to call anymore herself.  
_Lovesick teenagers... Ugh._

 

 

Cassidy scratches the message on a blank piece of paper.  
“I do not want to see you anymore. I do not want to talk to you anymore. I have somebody else, someone who respects me the way I am. Quit calling. I am not your boyfriend. This has to stop.”  
He knows full well the words are nothing but lies. He doesn't have anybody. But it's a beautiful lie.  
Rereading the letter hurts him with a desire for something he knows he can't have. Ever. It will hurt Gavin even more. _Good_.  
Dovetail made it very clear that their brother was onto something. Only slightly on the wrong track, Cassidy thought to himself. And when Hammer threatened a beating it sure wasn't an idle threat either. He knows that it's better for the both of them if Gavin stops calling.  
After all, Cassidy is sore about it anyway. For more than six months he was good enough to make out with one day and not worth a glance the next, nothing more than someone to go to when Gavin felt the need. And now that he's gone, he's suddenly appropriate boyfriend material? _Fuck it._

Cassidy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows full well that if Gavin had been bad, he's heading for an even bigger crash. Let it come to him. He'll survive that, too.


	17. Interlude 3

**Last week in May, 1990**

 

He takes a long hard look at himself in the bathroom mirror, the pale face, dark hair, reddish-brown beard. Every crease and line is inspected closely, nothing escapes his eyes. Finally, he stares down the bandage that covers his collar bone.  
It is time to take it off.  
Numbers opens the faucet and warm water splashes over his hands. He soaks the gauze so it won't stick, peels away the edges with slender fingers and the dressing comes lose eventually.  
The skin underneath is raw and lightly covered in fluids and traces of blood. He leans forward to get a closer look at it in the mirror. _Hm._  
Numbers puts a little antibacterial soap on his wet hands and starts to clean his upper torso around the collarbone. He washes away the foam and dries the inflamed skin with a paper towel.  
This is what he wanted, isn't it? A reminder. A fucking reminder not to be sloppy, not to be careless.  
He knows he shouldn't, but he traces the outline of the tattoo with his fingertips nevertheless. It hurts a little too much.

 

As Numbers glares at his new tattoo, somewhere at the other end of town a white sedan parks in front of Cassidy's house.  
The car sits there, idle, for a few minutes when Dovetail comes out the door with a small suitcase in hand. She walks up to the sedan, opens the trunk and throws her bag inside  
Then she gets into the passenger seat and the car drives off with screaming tires.

Cassidy looks out the front window, a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. After two weeks of hush-hush Fargo business, his sister is on her first assignment with a new partner from the syndicate. The woman has been over to their house only once, a petite Asian with blinding white clothes and a smile that made him uneasy. And now she’s driving off with his last line of defense in this house to God knows where.  
He’ll be alone for at least three weeks with Hammer and he doesn't like it at all. It's probably time to find something to do and get away as much as possible.  
Maybe he should look for a job?


	18. Chapter 18

**June 8, 1990**

 

Numbers's car is parked on the curb. He sits, idly stirring the coffee in the paper cup and looks at the people who pass by. A five-hour of stakeout and nobody has shown up so far.  
Housewives drag crying children along, old men in suits that might have once not hung limp around their shoulders hobble past. He takes a sip of coffee and wrinkles his nose. This cheap stuff is terrible. Tastes more like dishwater than anything else. He’ll drink that up and leave. The guy he’s been looking for should have been here at least three hours ago.

Then a familiar face comes into view. Numbers frowns. Right. School’s out. He could have known. And… _what the hell?!_  
It sure is Cassidy walking towards the car but whatever happened to the boy's face? Even at a distance he can see the black eye in full bloom. There's a slight limp in Cassidy’s step, too.  
He shouldn't give a damn, but look at the boy. _Fuck_.

As Cassidy casually closes in on the black Impala, eyeing it, Numbers leans over to open the passenger door a few inches, then sits back and waits.  
The other gets the hint and slinks into the seat, closing the door with a loud whack.

“ _\- Did you kiss a freight train?_ ” Numbers takes inventory of Cassidy's face. The left eye is bloodshot and embedded in dark blue flesh, the whole area around the cheekbone is swollen. There's a nasty cut right across the lower lip that seems to have bled considerably, the skin is red and inflamed.

 _\- I made the acquaintance of Hammer's fist three days ago. It's nothing,_ Cassidy scowls at Numbers but then his face turns into an expression of sudden pain. _Note to self: No excessive facial markers._

The left corner of Numbers's mouth twitches and his eyes narrow.  
\- _Why?_

Cassidy shrugs. _\- What do you care?_

In reply Numbers exhales air through flared nostrils and licks his lips.  
\- _WHY?_

 _\- Why? Why not? He was drunk and frustrated and there was nobody there to stop him? My sister's on the job as you well know._ He closes his eyes for a moment to shut Numbers out.  
_And fucking Gavin called – again._

Suddenly he feels Numbers shift in the driver's seat, then the motor comes to life, vibrating, and the car moves.  
When he opens his eyes, the Impala is already on the street.

“- Where are we going?” Cassidy asks.

 _\- Food._ Numbers replies with his right hand.

“ _\- Food like in you and me go for food?_ ”

Numbers simply nods.

“ _\- Might as well... Haven't eaten anything decent in three days._ ” Cassidy settles back into the passenger seat and looks out of the window.

Numbers doesn't answer. He's too absorbed by conflicted feelings, a hot white anger that burns in his guts fights the voice that says he has appearances to keep up.  
_But look at him._ That fucking asshole beat the crap out of him. He can take Cassidy to a public place in Fargo, can't he? Nothing to it, just two guys who've known each other for years having food. Oh god, who is he kidding…  
Then the voice of reason whispers a place name. At least get your baggage across the state line. Keep a minimum of discretion and a safe distance to home. _Obey the rules of the game. Right._

 

Cassidy steals glances at Numbers as they leave town and go for the Interstate. He looks even more grumpy than usual- if that is even possible. Narrow eyes fastened on the road ahead, teeth clenching, Numbers's profile is quite intimidating. It's also really tempting to inspect that scowl from close up. Maybe with his lips. A sigh escapes Cassidy but he doesn't even notice until Numbers waves a hand at him.

“ _\- Stop it._ ”

“ _\- What?_ ”

“ _\- Quit staring._ ”

Was he staring? Probably. _Damn it._  
Cassidy turns away to look out of the window again. After a while they pass another I94 sign.  
He leans back thoughtfully.

“ _\- Where are we going?_ ”

“ _\- Wait,_ ” for a second Numbers’s hands have to let go of the steering wheel.

“ _\- This is not a kidnapping, is it? Because I'm pretty sure Hammer is not going to pay a single buck. Perhaps he'll pay you to dispose of me. I think that's entirely possible. Come to think of it, did he?_ ”

“ _\- What?_ ” Numbers shoots a sideways glance at him.

“ _\- Did he pay you? To get rid of me. You could tie me to a post at a rest area like a dog. Or maybe you just dump me in a lake and let the fishes take care of the rest?_ ”

“ _\- Shut up,_ ” Numbers growls. All that signing and driving is making him nervous. What's wrong with the boy? _Maybe he's sour because his brother beat the crap out of him and hates his guts for no reason at all._

“ _\- Fuck you,_ ” Cassidy sneers. “ _Fuck YOU._ ”

He turns away for good, looking at the landscape. Wherever Numbers wants to go, it can't be worse than home.  
Cassidy's right hand brushes over the bruised half of his face absent-mindedly.

After a while a hand taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“ _\- Sorry.”_ Numbers signs. 

Cassidy just nods and stares at his lap. All of a sudden he feels like crying, as if something spilled over inside of him. It's only now that the full weight of the thing that has happened sinks in and shows it's ugly face. Is it his fault? Does he deserve this? What did he do? He doesn't know. Never did anything, did he? Apart from being other than... being somewhat different. How is that enough to justify such an amount of hatred and rage?  
For a while he sits, rigid, barely breathing, and simply looks on. Perhaps, if he closes his eyes and opens them again, it will be different.  
No. It won't. He stifles a low moan.

 

Then a hand reaches out for him.

Numbers is aware that he has raised his self-loathing stakes infinitely by his actions today. He'll possibly die of shame later when he contemplates the day. But right now it's the only thing he wants to do, even though his self-consciousness already makes gagging noises.  
He grabs Cassidy's hand and firmly holds it in his own. He doesn't even look at him, he just drives on, one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with Cassidy's. Now and then he has to free himself and shift the gears but he always comes back to the other’s warm fingers.

It takes them an hour to get to Fergus Falls, Minnesota. He knows a place here where the food is good, and it's unlikely he'll meet anybody he knows.  
Numbers parks the Impala on the curb across from a small restaurant. The neon sign announces “Beth’s Diner.”

 _\- Is that it?_ Cassidy asks, contemplating the building with the rather large plate glass windows in the front as he disentangles his hand from Numbers’s.

He nods. _\- Yeah. That is the place._

_\- Does it have burgers?_

_\- The best_ , Numbers grins. It's been ages since he's allowed himself to eat a good homemade burger.

 _\- What are we waiting for then?_ Cassidy starts off across the street and Numbers follows.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

A broad smile on his face, Cassidy looks down at the huge bacon cheeseburger in front of him, then up at Numbers.

_\- Tell me something, are you still taking lessons?_

Numbers frowns.

 _\- I mean ASL lessons_ , he adds and puts a French fry in his mouth.

The other man's face reddens. He takes a deep breath and nods faintly.

 _\- I thought so. You fingerspell a lot less. You're less sloppy with the positions of your hands, too. I like it._ Cassidy pulls out the toothpick flag that holds the burger together and places it on the plate.

Numbers grumbles but doesn't say anything. It’s a shame that he is embarrassed that easily.  
For a while he stares into space as Cassidy starts to attack the burger,but finally Numbers comes to and decides to take a bite of his own food. With hands and mouths occupied, they don't need to talk at least.

 

 

Cassidy mops up the leftover burger sauce with the rest of the French fries.

\- _Wow, that was really good_.

\- _Told you._

\- _Yeah_ , he puts the right-hand index finger between his lips and licks it clean.

Numbers groans and rolls his eyes at him. - _Don't do this here_.

But Cassidy just chuckles lightly. - _Does it make you uneasy?_

- _No. It's disgusting. If you need to clean your hands use a fucking refreshing wipe or go to the bathroom_.  
_Hell yeah, it's making him uneasy._

The other shrugs, grabs a wiper to clean his hands and goes about it with extra care now.

While Cassidy is occupied, Numbers orders a coffee and some apple pie for the both of them.

The waitress looks from one to the other, then asks Numbers, “Just one coffee?”

He taps Cassidy's arm.

_\- You want coffee with the pie?_

Cassidy smirks. _\- I'm getting pie?_

\- _Yes._

\- _No coffee. Thanks._

“No, he doesn't want coffee. Only one then and two slices of apple pie.”

“Anything in the coffee? Milk? Sugar?”

“No. Black coffee,” he scoffs.

“Whipped cream?”

Numbers can't believe it. What's wrong with the woman. Can't she take his order as it is? _Hell, this is annoying._

He turns to Cassidy again.

_\- Do you want whipped cream with your pie?_

The other smiles politely at him. - _Did you just ask me if I want cream with my pie. Did you?_

Numbers's face goes white. - _You little shit. JUST answer the damn question._

\- _No, as long as we're talking apple pie here, I don't._ Cassidy laughs at the way Numbers squirms in his seat because of the cheap joke.

\- _Okay_.

All the while the waitress stares at them with big cow eyes. She gapes at Cassidy and seems to inspect the swellings on his face with apparent awe.

“No, we do not want any whipped cream. Thank you.”

“Alright then.” she trudges off but can’t help to throw glance at the two over her shoulder.

 

\- _What's wrong with you?_ Numbers signs.

Cassidy laughs, - _What’s wrong with me? You’re the one getting all flustered about a joke nobody around here can even understand._

The older man grits his teeth.

\- _But you’re right. Apparently, there’s a lot wrong with me. You go and ask my siblings about it. They’ll come up with a whole list of things, I’m sure._ Cassidy’s face turns sour.

Numbers shakes his head, eyes fastened on the empty plate in front of him. After a while he looks up at the kid’s bruised face.  
_\- Tell me what happened. Please._

Cassidy shrugs but doesn’t answer.  
_Nobody cares about it anyway. Why does Numbers insist on knowing why?_

\- _The bastard was drunk again, wasn’t he?_ He leans over the table, not once breaking eye contact.

_– Yeah. He’s always drunk lately. Always up for a fight._

\- _Did you PICK a fight with him?_ Numbers tilts his head.

\- _Hell, no. I’m not an idiot. I keep away from him as far as possible._ Cassidy rolls his eyes. _  
_

Luckily, the waitress shows up once more and interrupts their conversation as she puts down two plates and a cup of coffee.  
Numbers dismisses her with a nod and she walks away with heavy steps.

 

The smell of warm apple pie and cinnamon wafts through the air but Cassidy’s stomach suddenly feels like a tight knot. He can’t eat a single bite of this right now.  
The way Numbers scrutinizes his face makes him uneasy, brown eyes bore into him.  
On top of it all he feels like an idiot. He’s tall, not as tall as Hammer, but he’s not the weak little kid from a few years ago either. His shoulders have broadened out and he’s muscled enough to pick a fight with his brother any time.

He shakes his head as if to clear it from something and finally holds Numbers’s gaze.

_\- The fucker sprang on me. Okay? He fucking sneaked up on me from behind._

Numbers blinks in disbelief. - _He did what?_

\- _I was in the kitchen fixing myself a sandwich. I had my Walkman earplugs in and some loud music on. So I didn’t notice anything when he snuck up on me, not even the shaking floorboards could give him away like they used to do in the old house. One moment I buttered a piece of toast and the next one a fist hit me in the kidney and an arm wrapped around my neck began to choke me._

Cassidy hesitates. Numbers’s hands have clenched into fists, the knuckles are white from the pressure he exerts. His eyes are narrowed to slits.

\- _Go on_ , he signs with some effort.

\- _I managed to kick at him and I bit his arm. He let go for a second but only to spin me around and land a real hard punch on my face._ Cassidy lightly caresses the bruise.  
_\- I went down pretty fast after that and he kicked at me. All I could do was hide my face, I think._

Numbers taps nervous fingers on the table. He doesn’t mind violence. He’s rather keen on dealing it out himself on the job. There’s not much of a conscience there in terms of that. Most people are idiots anyway. But for some reason it enrages him to think that someone would dare hurt Cassidy. His face is flushed with hatred towards Hammer and his cheeks burn with resentment.

\- _Did he ever say why? Was there a reason?_

\- _He yelled all the while but I didn’t get much. I was on the floor pretty quickly. I have an idea what it all was about. It’s not as if he ever really needed a reason, though…_ Cassidy trails off, hands motionless in his lap. He cringes, does he really have to say it out loud?

_\- The reason is Gavin._

_\- The boy from your old place? The one you -_ Numbers doesn’t finish the sentence. A wave of white heat surges through him, the sweet taste of jealousy.

_\- He doesn’t stop calling and writing. I told him to but he didn’t. Hammer threatened to beat me up if he’d have to answer the phone for me one more time._

_\- Was he your … boyfriend?_ Numbers bites his lower lip. _Idiot. You stupid dickhead had to ask this._

\- _None of your fucking beeswax, okay?_

Numbers merely nods.

\- _But yeah, I guess Hammer thinks that, too, and decided to punch it out of me just to make sure I get the message of disapproval._

At that Numbers’s upper lip twitches, exposing a canine tooth, and he flicks his tongue over it.

Then he attacks the apple pie in front of him with the fork and shovels it into his mouth. It is either that or he’s going to explode and trash something. Kill someone.  
He can feel the rage well up and bubble inside as it grows. All he can do is stuff himself with more food and drown the bile with coffee.  
Hammer always liked to degrade his brother, hurt him. And Numbers is pretty sure Dovetail once might have gotten her fair share as well.

 

Cassidy isn’t sure what to do but he can read the signs. After the story’s out, he could use some pie, too. And the last thing he wants is to work up Numbers any further.  
They eat in silence and when Numbers is done he asks for the check. He pays and shrugs into his coat. _\- Let’s go,_ he signs  
Cassidy follows him outside, shuffling his feet over the concrete. Suddenly, he dreads the one-hour drive home. Will it be like this now? Uncomfortable silence? Maybe it’s all screwed up for good.  
But as soon as he’s in the car and they’re on their way again, Numbers takes his hand. He doesn’t say anything the for entire ride, occupied by his own thoughts. 

 

After an hour the Impala stops at a side street and Numbers kills the engine.  
\- _I’d rather not go all the way to your house. I don’t think it would be a good idea.  
_ I’ll kill your bastard brother if I see him.

\- _The last thing I need is more questions or beatings_. Cassidy gazes down at his lap.

“- _Hey_ ” Numbers touches his shoulder lightly and he looks up.

A hand brushes his face and Cassidy closes his eyes for a moment. _Please don’t say you’re sorry. Just don’t.  
_  
When he opens them again, Numbers smiles and signs – _See you next Friday? 4 p.m. Right here?_

Cassidy nods, - _Yeah, why not._

As he gets out of the car, he’s still somewhat baffled. Did Numbers just ask him on a date or what was that? Fine by him.  
All he needs to do now is to survive in that house for another week.

 

Meanwhile, Numbers can't quite believe what he did. _Today_ could have been filed under impulsiveness, pity, having a heart etc. But Friday, that was organized, sought for disaster, a planned meeting. And then it dawns on him, too, he asked Cassidy to DATE him.


	20. Chapter 20

**June 15, 1990**

 

This is ridiculous, Numbers can't even remember how he ended up in the men's room with Cassidy crouched on the tiled floor, hot lips wrapped around his cock. The only thoughts cursing through his brain at the moment are the meek attempt to keep his voice down and not to cum too soon. It feels so fucking good what he's doing to him.  
  
Cassidy's hand moves up Numbers's belly, brushing through thick black hair while he licks along the length of the other's hard dick to tease him. In response Numbers shoves his cock against Cassidy's lips but he only moves a little further away, lapping at the tip with his tongue, coyly licking along the little slit.  
_Fuck it._ With a vengeance, he grabs Cassidy's hair to keep him in place and rubs himself against his mouth.  
Finally, Cassidy leans forward, swallows the head of Numbers's erect cock, and sucks on it.

The scent of Numbers's dick is intoxicating. He has never experienced anything so hot ever. The way the older man squirms against him when he moves his tongue up and down the shaft only turns Cassidy on more and his own cock strains against the fabric of the jeans. But it's not time yet, first he has to tease his partner a little more.  
Then suddenly, a hand grabs and yanks his hair so that he almost loses his balance. Cassidy decides that this is the sign he's been waiting for to get going.  
He engulfs Numbers's dick farther and a delicious musty taste spreads in his mouth as he sucks on it.  
His hand is still placed firmly on Numbers's belly and he moves it upwards a bit to better feel the moans and heavy breathing.  
Slowly at first, Numbers picks up a pace to fuck his face. Cassidy senses the knees weaken and give way a little as Numbers gets closer to the edge, so in tune with the next movement of the hips, Cassidy swallows him deep.

 _Oh fuck_ , Numbers can't believe Cassidy really took in his dick to the last inch. He bites his lips hard until he tastes blood but it's too late. Both hands buried in Cassidy's hair, he loses it and comes hard down his throat. _Shit, shit, shit._  
His knees finally buckle under him but the other's body weight presses him against the bathroom stall and prevents him from collapsing.  
  
Below, Cassidy carefully licks him clean, then looks up at him with wide eyes.  
  
Numbers reaches down now and pulls him up by the collar.  
There's a little trickle of cum on Cassidy’s face and he wipes it off with one finger, tasting himself as he laps it up.  
Eventually, he leans forward to kiss his partner while Cassidy eagerly rubs his boner against him.  
The movements along his thigh get harder, wilder and the bathroom stall rattles with the push and shove of their continued love making.

Numbers bites down hard on the other's lip, sending a shudder through him. His right hand finds its way into Cassidy's pants and he gently moves his middle finger between firm ass cheeks. For a moment he just holds it there, deliberately teasing. Then he moves his finger downwards, deeper in Cassidy's crack and places it right on the other's puckered asshole. Cassidy whelps softly and presses his dick against his leg.  
Numbers takes his time, slow and steady he works his finger into his partner's ass, spreading him.  
All the while his mouth covers Cassidy's as much as possible to keep him from getting too loud, even though everybody entering the men's room should immediately know what they're up to.  
His finger has found its way deep into Cassidy's butt and he starts moving it in rhythm with the grinding.  
It doesn't take long and Cassidy tenses up against Numbers, moans loudly into his mouth while spurting helplessly in his own pants.

 

For a while they simply stand in the bathroom stall. Numbers’s jeans are draped around his ankles, and Cassidy leans against him, face buried in the curve of his neck, breathing hot air down his spine.  
  
Softly, Numbers caresses Cassidy's back. He is pretty sure this was the most satisfying sex he has had in a long time.  
But when Cassidy places light kisses on his neck and down towards the collar of his shirt, he squirms a little.  
The other looks up and takes a small step backwards, fixes his eyes on a spot below Numbers's throat.

_\- Is that a new tattoo?_

\- _Yeah, the skin is still raw and flaking.  
Oh, please no..._

- _What is it?_ Cassidy's fingers move towards his shirt but Numbers brushes the hand away.

- _Just a reminder of something_... he trails off.

 _\- Are you ashamed to show me?_ Cassidy blinks at him.

 _\- No._  
_HELL YES._  
_\- But you should rather take care of that._ He points at Cassidy's crotch.

\- _What? Uh, I guess so._ For the first time he looks down at himself.  


While Numbers pulls up his boxers and jeans and fastens his belt, Cassidy tries to clean up the mess in his pants with toilet paper.

\- _Shit_. He smirks. - _Don't think this is working too well._

\- _We should make a quick getaway anyhow,_ Numbers signs. _\- Here_ , he fishes the car keys out of his trousers. - _You take this and go to the car. I get the coats and pay the bill._

Cassidy nods and takes the keys out of the other's hands, their fingers touch and Numbers involuntarily smiles.  


\- _Okay, let's go_. Numbers opens the bathroom stall door. The men's room is empty. _Good_.

He walks over to the washbasin and quickly cleans his hands, Cassidy follows his example.

 

 

Numbers pushes the door open and steps out into the diner He is trailed by Cassidy, who pretends he hasn't got a fresh cumstain on the front of his jeans and a faded black eye to show.  
Two or three heads turn around and stare at them as they make their way through the room. Numbers drifts nonchalantly, whistling to himself as if nothing had ever happened, to the counter in order to pay the check. The after sex bliss helps him to maintain a calm manner.  
As Cassidy walks towards the door, a guy in a striped shirt leans over to his wife and whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes go wide. Then the doorbells jingle softly.  
The waitress comes up to Numbers and grins at him. She's probably no more than 20 and wears an ugly sky-blue uniform with a white apron on which she currently wipes her hands clean.  
  
“Can I get you the check?” She can't help but add, “I hope you've been satisfied with the service.”  
  
Numbers narrows his eyes and leans forward, “It's been an exceptionally pleasing experience today.”

He places two bills on the counter. “This is for the food, and this,” he shoves forward a 50 dollar bill, “is to make up for your extremely boring and ordinary work day.”

The woman snatches the bill but Numbers grabs her hand and holds it in place. “We understand each other?”

“Oh,” she winks, “perfectly well.”

“Fine.”

 

 

Dammit, Numbers taps a hand against his forehead as he turns the Impala into Cassidy's street. He should have parked further away. But even after an hour’s drive he’s still mentally caught up in what happened back at the diner.

 _“- Don't worry, Hammer is gone for the weekend_ ,” Cassidy says, “- _You can park on the curb in front of the house._ ”

Numbers stops the Impala andthey both just sit in the car, nobody saying or doing anything. When they finally face each other, Cassidy leans over to place a kiss on his lips.  
His skin prickles and for the moment Numbers is so lost in the play of their tongues that he considers suggesting they spend the evening together.  
And then nimble fingers grab his shirt and undo the first two buttons.  
_Oh shit. No.  
_ Numbers pushes Cassidy's hand away but it's already too late. He catches the other stare at his partially exposed collar bone trying to make sense of the tattoo.

Cassidy's face falls. - _Boundaries? That's it? Your reminder._

He shrugs – Y _es, that is it._ Numbers glares and closes his shirt again.

There’s a slight pause, a hesitation, then Cassidy blurts out:  
\- _Boundaries. You FUCKING asshole. It’s a reminder of what?_

Numbers fidgets with his hands, then signs - _A lot of things. Work things. You wouldn't understand.  
God, this isn’t happening._

\- _Oh try me. Just try me._ Cassidy's nostrils flare. - _I wouldn't understand. Why? Because I'm on the outside of that?_ He points at Numbers's collar bone and then tips his index finger against the covered tattoo a little to hard.

“Ouch!” Numbers flinches at the sudden pain.

\- _When did you get this? It's fresh, isn't it? You SAID so._  
The more agitated he gets, the faster Cassidy signs, his face works through a dozen emotions at once.  
Meanwhile, Numbers tries to keep track of all the words but it's hard.

\- _Did you get that after... in the bathroom. You did, didn’t you? What do you take me for?_ Cassidy's face is red with anger at this point.

\- _Look_ , Numbers replies and clenches his teeth, he doesn’t want this to get out of control, - _It's a reminder against sloppiness at work. It's that and nothing more._

But there’s no pacifying Cassidy now that he’s convinced the tattoo is about him.

\- _Sloppiness. Is THAT what I am to you? Sloppiness at work? So you decide to ink a manifesto on your chest? You know what? Maybe you should have it stitched on your DICK, too. Just in case. Because I think you have trouble keeping it in your fucking pants.  
_ Cassidy smacks his hand on the dashboard.

 _-”What!? Are you kidding me? You're upset because I get a tattoo you don't like the interpretation of?”_ Numbers flashes a set of white teeth. “- _Who do you think I am?!? Your BOYFRIEND? Because I fuck you, I need to date you? You think I’m one of your sorry ass high school crushes you can go to prom with?_ ” In his anger he signs and yells the words simultaneously.

\- _I think you’re a fucking asshole. You're a terrible human being! I don't know how I could EVER think otherwise. You’re so fucked up, I am a paragon of sanity in comparison, old man._

“That’s it. GET OUT.” Numbers spits the words in Cassidy’s face as his hands grip the steering wheel hard. One more word from the boy and he’s gonna jump and throttle him.  
“GET the fuck OUT. Or I’ll forget myself.”

\- _What do you want to do, HIT me? You’d need to get in line behind my brother to do that. But don’t bother…_ Cassidy opens the door.

Before Numbers can put in another word, the other is out of the car and out on the street.

“Come back shithead!” he yells after him furiously although he knows it’s useless.

The door closes with a whack and he’s alone in the car.

 

Cassidy stomps across the street and up to the house. He doesn’t turn around once to look back as the Impala speeds away. _Fuck Numbers. FUCK everybody._ With a cold rage he slams the frontdoor shut behind him.


	21. Interlude 4

She grabs the keys and heads for the frontdoor. What she needs is a long run to get the last two weeks out of her system. She’s glad they managed to finish the job early and got home today. Killing people is harder than she thought. Well, to be honest, she didn’t know what she was thinking getting into this in the first place.

As she walks down the driveway, Dovetail stops in her tracks. There’s a black car parked on the curb across the street about a 100 meters away. It’s Numbers’s car; the Impala is hard to miss..  
Dovetail thinks about approaching but as she comes a little closer she realizes there’s someone in the passenger seat.  
It’s Cassidy, she’s quite sure. What’s that supposed to… _WOW, what?!? NO. WAY.  
_ She stops, open-mouthed, on the sidewalk across from the car and stares as her little brother leans over and kisses Numbers.  
 _WHAT THE FUCK?_  
Dovetail swallows hard, she can’t move for the life of her, transfixed as she is by the scene unfolding in the car.  
A thought flashes through her mind. What if they notice her? She’s right here standing exposed for everyone to see. That's not good. Whatever is going on is supposed to be a secret, right?  
She takes a last look at the car to make sure, she isn’t dreaming this and then quickly trots off around a corner.  
Wow, she needs this run double, triple, whatever... She isn’t even sure it’s possible to outrun something THIS fucked up anymore.


	22. Chapter 22

**Late June**

 

Eyes closed, Cassidy lies on the bed and tries hard not to sob. He draws his knees up to his chest and resolves never to move out of bed ever again. Or at least not today. _Stupid, stupid boy._  
He's angry with himself because, deep down inside, of course he'd hoped against all odds that Numbers might be the one person who genuinely cared even if he couldn't admit it or say it to his face. What a childish thing to wish for. What an idiotic thing to do, run head-on into a mess that smelled of shit miles away.  
Oh, and Numbers that bastard was the kind of guy to take advantage of it, too. Sociopath with trouble keeping it in his pants or whatever he was. _A reminder my ass. That tattoo is a stop sign, an insult to everyone who dares come too close. Works fine, too._  
The worst is the feeling of desolation and the way it mixes with the hot and searing shame in his guts. It's all empty inside but paradoxically still burns and hurts, too. Scorched earth under naked feet.

Cassidy spends the weekend in bed, working up a silent rage at Numbers and the world in general. He vaguely realizes that his sister has come home early from her assignment but doesn't care. Everybody just seems to be very far away from him. If they want to keep him at an emotional distance, fine by him, he won't come near them again. Maybe he needed this to learn the lesson once and for all. You can change your looks and pretend you’re okay but in the end you're still the same person nobody truly wants or needs. Tomorrow the stupid mutton chops will come off for a start. They remind him too much of how hard he tried to change. And failed.

After a week of stewing in his own thoughts and dissecting the pain carefully over and over again, he decides it's time to act. He needs to get out of this place. Nobody wants him here, then maybe that's the perfect cue to finally get away. His siblings are nothing but human trash, especially Hammer, and Numbers can kiss his ass.  
But first he needs some money. He's not going to rush this. He's not going to crawl back to this house beaten because he acted on an impulse.  
On Monday afternoon he sets out with Tim, the bike-crazy guy from school, to apply for a job at the garage on 7th street. He’ll go back to his other name again. Wrench. Rely on his own abilities. _Fuck Numbers._

 

 

He is awake in the dark. Sleep is impossible to accomplish because he can't stop thinking of Cassidy. Can't stop thinking about their fight in the car. The thing is, the boy is right. He couldn't stay away. He should have known better than to get into this affair or whatever it was in the first place. Twenty-six years-old and he is unable to control his urges. It's a shame.  
Part of him rationalizes the situation. He knows what he should do. Go to Jergen in the morning, ask for an extended assignment. Ask for anything that's happening miles away from here. Maybe it's time to put in an effort and climb up a few rungs on the syndicate ladder. Numbers knows he's capable of doing it if he can pull himself together and shut out distractions.  
Yet, another small part of him is still in that diner, pants down, goose bumps all over because Cassidy nuzzles his neck with soft lips.  
Numbers groans. It's a mess. He doesn't understand how this happened, how the boy managed to occupy that part of him he thought he'd shut down years ago.  
He considers the most desirable option, lodged in the back of his mind as it is, drags it into the light without mercy. He could get out of bed, get dressed, drive over to Cassidy's house. And then what? Apologize. Explain himself. Have make up sex. _Oh god._  
A weird noise halfway between a laughter and sob escapes his lips. He can't decide if it's hilarious or very sad that he feels this way about the other.  
In any event, it's not going to happen. Looking at the scene from every angle in his head, he can't help but see how ridiculous he is. It's a fucking wake-up call and he needs to answer.  
Come Monday, he'll ask for a serious job assignment. Something away from here, the farther the better. Jergen still owes him a favor and he is going to call it in.

 

 

Two weeks after her discovery, Dovetail is in Cassidy’s room and searches for evidence as soon as he’s off to his new job. She needs to find these letters. _Jeez_. For some reason she wants proof that her brother's affair has been going on for a while now. She needs to know!

Dovetail wonders if Numbers is really this careless.

Yes, he is. It takes her some time in the mess to find anything but under the bed behind some porn magazines is a small, and conspicously dustless, carton.

She pulls it out and opens it with shaky fingers. There are bundles of photographs wrapped with rubber bands in it and an assortment of letters.  
At first she thinks that the photos must have been collected over a longer period of time... there are so may. But as she leafs through them, she realizes that most of them have writing scribbled on them, mostly quite recent dates, sometimes also little messages. Dovetail is certain the hand is Numbers' on each one. A lot of notes are outright cryptic and make no sense whatsoever to her, a few are more revealing though. “I woke up and thought about the way the early morning sun bathed your naked shoulders in its soft light. -#-”

 _WHAT?! Oh my god..._ She groans, then pinches herself. _Fuck, ouch._ No, she's very much awake and this shit is very real. _When the fuck did Numbers see... Ah, no! BLERGH!_

Dovetail puts the photos back in the box, at least there are no nudes in the stack. _Oh GAWD_. She takes a deep breath and pulls one of the letters out of its envelope. It contains a weird mixture of personal chitchat and what... philosophy - sophisticated musings? Once in a while there are questions concerning ASL, too. Weird shit.  
As she reads through a few letters, she quickly realizes that they're ALL like that. She's glad that in contrast to the photos there are virtually no romantic messages in them. Still.  
After a while Dovetail packs up the whole collection agai. Then she pushes the carton under the bed and hides it behind the porn.

Sitting on the floor in Cassidy's room, she's still shocked about the things she has found out over the last few days, how the puzzle pieces fall into place. And it's fucked up as hell. Numbers is almost 10 years her brother's senior! Cassidy is barely 17!  
What is she going to DO? Being with a boy his own age, that was one thing. Fucking a criminal in his late twenties is quite another.  
What if she tells Hammer? What if? But she stifles the idea as soon as it surfaces. Hammer would first kill Cassidy, then her and in the end try to go for Numbers. Her little brother is already in trouble and she doesn't quite fancy the idea that drunk Hammer might decide it's all her fault. Why didn't SHE take care of the boy? She was a woman. It was her responsibility. BAM. Fist in her face. Nope.  
And if she tried to talk to Numbers? Dovetail shakes her head at the idea. _Don’t be stupid._  
What could she say? Hey, please stop fucking my brother. I rifled through his personal belongings and - No. She laughs bitterly, imagining an argument about the age of consent with Numbers. _Such fun!_ He'll simply twist her wrists and then snap her neck. The guy is dangerous and easily angered. She has no intention to commit suicide.  
The only options she has are either to ignore things or to talk to Cassidy. Yeah, because she is so good at talking to her little brother. But she can't just sit around watch events unfold, can she?

 

~~~

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**One Month Later – End of July**

 

First, there's an angry knock at her door, then there's a fist in her face. Despite the ringing in her ears, she knows her nose cracked with the second punch. Dovetail tries to get away, back into her room and close the door but Hammer is stronger and she tumbles to the floor as he kicks the door open.  
She scrambles backwards, vaguely aware of the metallic taste in her mouth and a searing pain that spreads across her face.  
But before she can get to her feet, Hammer grabs her by the collar, lifts her up and shakes her violently.

“Stupid bitch. What did you TELL them?!”

She has no idea what he's talking about.  
It's hard to breathe, her nose is clogged and blood trickles down her throat. _Fuck_.  
Hammer rattles her bones, half choking her. “WHAT did you TELL them, bitch? WHAT?”  
Instead of a reply all that comes from her mouth is a desperate cough. The room is spining around her.  
Then her brother's hand closes around her throat. “Don't think because you're my sister, you're ever safe.”  
All she can do is flail her arms uselessly and hope he doesn’t kill her.  
With a sudden rage, Hammer lets go only to throw her to the floor. A foot lands in her stomach, she recoils but it's in vain.

“For the lat time, what did you tell them?”

Dovetail spits blood. “I – I don’ know – what– what you talkin’ 'bout...” Oh god, she’s going to die over something she hasn’t got a clue about.

“Don't LIE to me. How else would they know about my little side business?!” Hammer's voice suddenly tones down to a hiss.

“Wha- what?!?” She doesn't understand. _What side business?!_

“Don't pretend you don't KNOW.” He leans down and grabs her by the hair, pulls her face upwards.

“'bout what?” she stares at his contorted face. _Great, he's going crazy for good._

Hammer glares back at her, then he pushes her to the floor once more.  
“Don't you ever forget who's in charge here, BITCH. Don't you ever forget what I KNOW.”  
  
He kicks at her one last time and simply walks out of the room, slamming the door shut.

 

For a while she just lies on the floor, curled up into a ball of pain and blood. Her face is numb from the beating and her stomach cramps.  
Hammer's hand has slipped before but never like this.  
  
 _Don't black out now, focus on that. Don't choke on your own blood or swallow your tongue and die.  
  
_ Dovetail doesn't know if it's been minutes or an hour when she finally manages to get up. But she's barely on her feet when a sudden nausea grips her and she sways to the bathroom just in time to throw up on the tiled floor. _Ugh_. She grabs on to the toilet and pulls herself up. _Better now? Perhaps._  
Legs shaking beneath her, she staggers to the bathroom mirror to look at her face, now soiled with vomit and blood. Her nose is crushed. She needs to go to a hospital, no doubt about that.  
The sight of her smashed face curdles something deep inside her. The longer she looks, the less she recognizes herself.  
Her brother needs to be taken care of for good. He needs to go. He's too dangerous and unpredictable. He knows about her first kill. He has proof. He smashed her little brother's face to pieces not long ago and now hers. HERS. And... he's probably stealing from the syndicate she works for? Doing a little side business. What was that all about?  
She laughs ghastly as a thought flashes through her mind. If she can't get to him directly, maybe she can play him. Perhaps someone else can take care of this.  
Then a fresh wave of nausea hits her, she grips the washbasin hard, trying to steady herself.  
It's high time to call her partner, get her to a hospital – or a doctor. _Jeez_. Letters will know what to do.

 

 

**End of July - End of October**

 

They set her nose and it heals. Yet, it shows. Her face will never look the same. And the wrath festers inside her. Over the months something grows, sprawls and buries itself in her heart until her plan for revenge takes shape.

A part of her is sorry for Cassidy, sorry that she will have to screw him over, too. He found a job at some kind of bike shop after school. That's what he says. Lately, there are teenagers in their garage working on a motorbike. There's even a girl among them. What's her name? Alex. Alex and Tim. Those are the most frequent visitors. Cassidy has a few friends now.  
For the first time, Hammer seems to be moderately pleased with the boy. Motorbikes, job, buddies, a GIRL; maybe 17 is changing his little brother into a decent human being.  
Doesn't mean Hammer isn't drunk ranting time and again. There’s been an incident with the girl of some sort as far as Cassidy told her, Hammer trying to touch her while drunk? But still... currently he's been chill enough not to beat Cassidy up. 

Instead, Hammer eyes HER with suspicion ever since he broke her nose. Dovetail doesn't know exactly what's been going on but she is sure that he took syndicate money to set up some kind of side track. And somebody at headquarters suspects something. Maybe Jergen, the guy with the endless charts and diagrams on the desk, the one who knows all the assets and their current assignments. Sometimes he makes curious allusions, too. Like when he asked her if she knew why her brother had been seen in Bemidji when he was supposed to be in Saint Cloud.  
No, she didn't know anything about that. Of course not.  
At first she thought the easiest way to get her brother in trouble was to work with Jergen, snoop around and tell him everything she knew. But that had seemed a little too dangerous. If Hammer found her out, who knew what he was going to do. She felt like she was under surveillance already. And then, if they ditched Hammer, they might ditch her too. Nobody likes to employ a snitch after all.  
It had to be subtle, much more subtle. Somebody had to screw Hammer over for something completely different. Someone who is as dangerous as he is cunning needs to do it. The only guy she can think of is Numbers. He is the only one she can give a good reason to go for Hammer from a non-syndicate related venue.  
It’s dangerous. Yet, what if she shows Hammer the letters and photos that Numbers sent to Cassidy? She is sure that will give her brother the fit of a lifetime. Uncontrollable as he is, she is sure he will go for Numbers. She is also convinced that the other is smarter and more dangerous than Hammer. Deadlier. She has to arrange for it a certain way, though. Maybe tell Hammer, then tip off Cassidy so he can give Numbers a heads up. Yes…


	24. Interlude 5

**August**

 

Pencil already in hand, he stares at the photograph, then flips it over and writes: “I miss you so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I did.”  
No, that certainly won’t do. No way. He can’t send a note like this to Cassidy. He just can’t.  
Anger wells up inside of him, burns in his guts. What the fuck is he doing here? He’s not that weak!  
It has taken him a lot of effort not to break the silence and he won’t do it now. _Fuck it.  
_ The pencil flies across the room and hits the wall. _Fuck everything._  
Numbers bites his lip hard. Then, with cruel precision, he rips the polaroid into little shreds of paper and throws them in the trash.  
He’s not going to ruin what he has achieved at work for the syndicate over a boy.

In his coat pocket is a little calling card. He fishes it out and eyes it suspiciously. But in the end he grabs the phone and starts dialing.


	25. Chapter 25

**A Saturay in November**

 

“We need to talk.” a sentence as simple as that sparks a chain reaction she is no longer sure she can fully control.

Dovetail snatches the box from under Cassidy's bed and shows Hammer a selection of the cheekiest photographs/messages. And, as expected, after an initial phase of gaping and muttering things under his breath, her brother flips.  
He demands to know how she found this, how long she has known, if she is sure this is still going on and so forth. All the while his face grows redder and spittle flies, fists are shaken.  
The boy is a useless piece of shit, he always knew it. Disgusting piece of trash. But Numbers, too... Traitor! That's what he is, a fucking traitor. He, Hammer, will first teach Cassidy the lesson of a lifetime and then show Numbers what happens to those who betray him.  
For a while it is actually pretty amusing that Hammer is so personally insulted by the whole affair. The rage isn't at all about a guy in his mid-twenties having intercourse with a minor. No. It is about how this relates to him, his ego and his homophobia.  
When did her brother turn into such an openly mad idiot? She is sure it has something to do with the increased drinking over the last months and the paranoia generated by his “side business.”  
Dovetail knows it is best to wait until he has spilled all the rage.  
  
Only when Hammer is done with his initial outburst, she pointedly puts back the lid on the Pandora’s box of photos.

“You can't just go and yell at Numbers and jump him, you know that, don't you?”

Hammer squints at her and clenches a fist. Then he replies through gritted teeth, “Yes, I know.” 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Dovetail raises an eyebrow.

“I have to think about that,” he grunts back at her. “First, I'm going to teach the boy a lesson. I thought we had discussed this. But obviously we haven't discussed it thoroughly enough.”

“Discussed it with your fists...” she trails off.

“Oh shut up! You come to me with this!? I'll handle it MY WAY. Deal with it.”

It isn't easy but Dovetail nods meekly. She has to play this well and showing deference to her brother is part of the act.  
“Alright. But I don't want to have to put him in hospital afterwards.”

Hammer just rolls his eyes at the remark. “If the boy breaks a bone, maybe he will remember once and for all.”

Dovetail doesn't answer. She has to warn Cassidy soon, that much is clear. Perhaps it is best to go to the garage he works at and do it in person? Now? Who knows what Hammer will do.

 

And then it all starts to spin out of control. She has waited roughly an hour, her brother left for a work errand and it seems inconspicuous enough to get her car and drive into Fargo. But when she puts on her winter, coat the telephone rings.  
It's Letters and she says it is urgent. They have a job to do, they have to do it now. She'll be at Dovetail's house in about 20-30 minutes. And Dovetail needs to be ready and packed, light suitcase, summer clothes, something sexy please. The flight is booked already, no delay possible. No, she does NOT have an hour's time to run a personal errans. She'd better get her ass going.

 _Shit, shit, shit. This is all wrong._ It is impossible to warn Cassidy this way. She has to think of something quickly.

All she can do is write him a note and put it on his desk; hope that Cassidy sees it before Hammer gets a hold of him.  
“He knows about you and Numbers. You have to get out of here for a while. I'm on a job. I left you money in the glove compartment of my car. Take it and come back in two weeks from now.”  
Her stomach sinks. What has she done? _NO._ But it's too late to take it back. The damage is done, the chain of events set in motion.


	26. Chapter 26

**Later that day**

 

 _\- It doesn't sound right._ Alex signs when Cassidy gets off the motorbike and comes back into the garage.

“What?” Tim looks at her quizzically.

Cassidy chu _ckles. “- She thinks the motor still doesn't sound quite right_."

“Oh. Hm. Thanks. Yeah.“ Tim frowns.

They've been working on the old bike for some time at Cassidy's place. The shop owner gave it to him as part of the payment. “Just needs to be fixed up. I'm sure that's no problem for you, is it?”  
But right now, Cassidy is pretty frustrated with it. Oh, it's running but something is a little off. Alex is right. He may not hear it, but he felt it, sitting on the machine.

Tim wipes his hands on a dirty rug and takes a look at the watch. “Guys, guys! I'm sorry, but I think I have to call it a night.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “ _\- What is it, your mommy told you to be home by 8 p.m. sharp?_ ”

“No, man,” he smirks. “I have a – uh – scheduled phone call.”

 _“- Your mysterious girl? Yeah, right. Just rub it in, idiot._ ” Cassidy grins back at him.

“What can I do?!” Tim puts out his hands defensively. “I'm such a charmer!”

“Oh shut up and fuck off.” Alex rolls her eyes and then throws her own oily rag in his face.

“Hey, babe, that was uncalled for!”

“I'm NOT your BABE,” her face reddens profusely.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Whatever. I'm as good as gone!”  


He gives Cassidy a pat on the back and grabs his jacket and helmet. “I see you tomorrow?”  
The other nods.  
Without a word to Alex, Tim walks out.  


\- _Idiot_. Alex stares at her feet. In the distance she can hear the bike roaring away.

\- _Hey, I'm sorry._

"Don't be. I'll get over it soon enough. _"_

_"- We don't have to finish this tonight, you know. If you'd rather want to leave, too."_

Alex frowns. "What? God no. Don't you throw me out on my ass moping around."

\- _Yeah, okay._

If anything, Cassidy can reciprocate what Alex is going through. It's quite obvious she's got a crush on Tim. Well, obvious to anyone but Tim.  
As for himself, he hasn't seen Numbers in months. Didn't receive a single letter, photograph, whatever. It seems to be over for good and yet it still hurts even now thinking about it. Sometimes he likes to beat himself up over it and reads through the letters and notes; or, he just contemplates the pictures and wonders where they have been taken.

He sighs. _"- Okay, let's get to work."_

 

 

It's Alex who naturally turns around first when the door opens and steps can be heard on the stairs that lead from inside of the house into the garage. The tools in her hand drop to the floor with a metallic sound.  
Seeing Alex turn away from him, Cassidy follows her gaze towards the door and realizes that his brother has come in.  
Hammer's face is red, contorted into a mask of rage, his steps are heavy and he's swaying.  
 _Oh shit._ It doesn't take long for Cassidy to realize he's drunk and upset.

“Alex.” Cassidy says and she spins around to face him.  
 _“- You better leave now.”_ he urges.

“What? I don't understand” Alex looks from Cassidy to Hammer and back again confusedly. “Why does he look so fucking angry?”

 _“- Do me a favor and leave_.”

“But... why... what?” she tries to compute what's happening.

By now Hammer has bridged the distance between them and pushes Alex aside.

“Get out of my way, bitch,” he drawls. “Listen to him if you know what’s best for you.”

Cassidy has barely time to brace himself for what he knows will follow, but he manages to duck under the first swing of Hammer's fist.

Meanwhile Alex is torn between flight, heeding Cassidy's warning and to jump his bull of a brother and make him stop whatever it is he’s trying to do. Cassidy has helped her once when Hammer was drunk and tried to put his hands all over her out in the hallway. _Yuck._

As she hesitates, Hammer has managed to place a hit but missed his brother's face and instead pounded his shoulder.  
Cassidy wants to take another step back but once his brother is in a rage, there's barely an escape. The next moment a fist lands in the pit of his stomach and the air is forced out of him.

Hammer grunts, “You think we wouldn't find out?”

Coughing and retching Cassidy manages a faint “What?”

With unexpected speed Hammer drives forward, catches him by the collar with his right hand and with the left forces is face upwards.  
“Numbers.” he hisses. “You think I would tolerate that?”  
Hammer’s hand is set to crush Cassidy's jaw when suddenly someone punches him in the kidneys.  
The next moment Cassidy is released from the iron grip but it's already too late to intervene.  
Hammer has turned around and slapped Alex hard in the face. She topples backward, a wave of pain surges through her face.

 _Numbers._ Something snaps in the back of his head and Cassidy lunges forward to lash out at Hammer.

“FUCK YOU.”

His big brother spins round to face him once more.  
“You want to fight me over this?”

In reply Cassidy tries to punch a fist in Hammer's face but the other sidesteps and buries his hands in the reddish curls on Cassidy's head, pulling hard.  
Tears shoot into his eyes, it feels as if Hammer's going to tear the scalp right off his head. He flails his arms frantically and lands a lucky blow in Hammer's crotch.  
His brother howls, let’s go of Cassidy’s hair and takes a few steps backwards in surprise.  
But he pushes forward, jumps Hammer full force, puts in all his weight and fells the giant.  
For a few seconds they wrestle on the ground but Cassidy has pinned Hammer to the floor. Just when he thinks he can land a good punch, however, his brother frees a hand and hits him hard in the face, knuckles hit Cassidy's cheek bones, a sigil ring buries itself in his flesh, the skin bursts and blood gushes from the cut on the side of his face.  
Cassidy is half-way thrown off his brother, grapples for a hold on the concrete floor as Hammer tries to push him away. His face burns and the metallic smell of blood is in his nose. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alex move on the floor and then something hits his fingertips.  
Cassidy grabs onto the cold metallic object, clutching it in his hand.  
With a last effort he pushes himself up, flexing muscles, struggling to keep Hammer down on the floor just a minute longer.  


The wrench comes down on Hammer's face hard, crushes bone and cartilage mercilessly. Blood blooms before his eyes and with the second hit the world goes dark and still.  


Cassidy has the tool raised over his head for a third blow but hands grab his wrist and stop him. Only now does he realize that Hammer is limp and still under him.  
Someone grabs him from behind, and arm wrapped around his body and tries to pull him off his brother.  
It’s Alex, of course. She screams but Cassidy can’t hear her. “Get off! You’ll kill him! Oh god, I think you already did!”  
Cassidy relents, partly being drawn, partly crawling away from the puddle of blood that forms under him.  
Is it his blood or Hammer’s?  
He rolls on his back and stares at the ceiling when a first wave of pain and nausea washes over him.  
Alex appears in his field of vision, signing, her face is contorted, she shakes him but he doesn’t move. His head is light and empty. Maybe he killed Hammer? 

Alex doesn’t know what to do, she runs from one end of the garage to the other, trying not to look at Hammer’s crushed face. Then suddenly she kneels down next to the motionless body in despair to make out if he is still breathing. Does his chest rise and fall? She doesn’t know. Tears cloud her vision and she’s too afraid to touch him _. Oh god, that face, the nose non-existent, blood, so much blood._ Alex scrambles to her feet again, she grabs and shakes Cassidy, signing, yelling about how they have to call an ambulance, the police, anyone. He doesn’t respond. There’s a nasty looking gash on the right side of his face and blood keeps seeping out. Even that doesn’t seem to have an effect on him. His eyes stare into a distance she can’t fathom.  
If she calls an ambulance, there will be police, too, right? What if Hammer is DEAD? And Cassidy killed him? If she gets help now, maybe it won’t come to that. But what if? She can’t decide, her thoughts move in circles and in the end she sits down on concrete floor and cries.

Cassidy has lost all sense of time. For how long did he gaze into the void? A minute? An hour? He presses his hand against his face, it comes away soaked and he sniffs his own blood.  
Then he rolls on his belly and gets up slowly, pushing himself up with his hands against the floor. A hand imprint remains on the concrete.  
The body doesn’t move, even as he steps on Hammer’s pinkie and puts his weight on it. Perhapse he’s merely passed out. It doesn’t really make a difference. _I'm fucked either way._  
The nausea is still there, back in his mind somewhere, the ground moves a little under his feet.  
  
And there is Alex, arms wrapped around her knees rocking back and forth rhythmically.  
As he leans down and puts a hand on her shoulder, stars dance before his eyes.  
“Alex,” he says softly.

She looks up at him, stops in mid-motion. Her face is red and swollen from crying. Snot runs from her nose and she smears it on her sleeve.  
“What did you do?” she whispers, her voice is hoarse. But he can clearly read the words from her lips.

Cassidy doesn’t reply. He sits down on the floor. Sickness grabbing him again, he closes his eyes for a second.

He flinches when a hand touches him and stares into Alex’ face right before his eyes.  
“You need a doctor Cassidy.”

But he just shakes his head, no. _“- Can’t - call – no - ambulance._ ” His hands are jittery and the signing is incoherent.

“You lost a lot of blood, “ Alex groans and buries her face in her hands momentarily.  
“You need to see a doctor.”

Instead, Cassidy answers: _“- You want to help? Or no? You can go – go- call police – whatever you want. Get out of this. Is okay.”_ He hesitates _“- But…”_ and trails off. The world is definitely moving faster under him.

“But what?” Alex’ eyes bore into Cassidy. “What is it?”

_“- You gotta drive me to someone’s apartment. Someone who can help, I think.”_

“He’ll get you medical attention, yes?” she asks, a spark of hope on her face.

_“- I – maybe...”_

“Shit.”


	27. Chapter 27

_Shit feckin’ stairs._ Alex barely manages to drag herself and Cassidy up the outside stairwell of the bachelors’ apartment complex and onto the second floor landing.  
Some of the lights over the doors come to life with a faint click and shine in her eyes.  
She pushes Cassidy forward along the aisle until he stops in front of an apartment entrance.

 _\- Is this it?_ she asks.

He nods.

The name on the doorbell reads: Aaron Goldstein.  
Alex presses the button, once, twice, repeatedly, over and over again. Whoever is in there will want to come out and hit them in the face.

 

After a few minutes, the door opens- and there’s a man in sweatpants, angry features, his naked torso glistens in the lamplight.  
As Cassidy looks at the guy’s face, he frowns.  
“Not – him.” he rasps.  
But instead of slapping the door in their faces the man shakes his head and shouts “AARON!!! You need to come here NOW.”

 

Alex is uncertain what do. If this is not him…  
In the back of the apartment a black-haired man emerges. He utters curses under his breath and hastily zips up a hoody.  
  
“What the fuck, if it’s the pizza guy tell him he should have been here an hour ago. Don’t want no fucking pizza anymore.”

The one at the front door rolls his eyes, “It’s NOT the delivery man.”

When the bearded guy in the sweater looks up and sees them standing there, his face falls.

“What the hell?!”

In a few strides he’s at the door, peers over Alex’s shoulder into the darkness and ushers them in.  
He eyes her from head to toe first, then takes a good long look at Cassidy, assessing the situation.

“Go to the bedroom, Matt, get the phone and some gauze pads from the nightstand. GO.” The order is directed at the half-naked dude who, inspite of his indignant expression, obeys immediately.

The door clicks shut behind Alex and she glances at it over her shoulder, worried.

“YOU.” The man says and she faces him. “Who are you?”

“I – I…” her mind is a blank, the guy is in a rather disshevelled state, sweatpants, baggy blue hoody, chest hair showing, his black mane wild on his head but the voice is hard, cold as ice and his teeth shine white and menacing.

“Are you with him?” He points to Cassidy.

“Y-Yes. I’m Alex. I brought him here.”

The man nods, points to the sofa, “SIT.”

Alex does as she’s told and sits on the couch. Only now she realizes that her legs were shaking.

Meanwhile, the guy focusses on Cassidy. He puts a hand under his chin, tilts the face up a little to survey the damage. A fresh trickle of blood comes out of the cut and Cassidy flinches.

“Shit, man. Shit.”

The next thing Alex knows, the stranger pulls Cassidy towards himself and her friend collapses into his arms. They stand there, hugging each other for what appears to be an eternity. _What the fuck is going on here?_

 

Numbers holds Cassidy close, the other’s body is pressed against his. Gently, he moves his fingers through Cassidy’s curls, caresses the bruised face.  
The spell of the embrace is broken as soon as Matt returns with the phone and a handful of antiseptic compresses. He’s dressed in jeans and a sweater now, feet still naked.  
“Ah-hem. Aaron?”

Numbers’s brain slowly shifts back into emergency mode. He disentangles himself and directs Cassidy towards the couch where Alex sits, gaping at the scene that unfolds before her.  
The kid slumps down next to his friend. She helps him out of his soiled army jacket and wraps an arm around him protecively.

 _“_ Here,” Numbers says, then hands over the gauze pads.  _“- You put these on the wound, apply some light pressure to it, okay? Try to stay awake.”_ He can’t help himself and breathes a light kiss on Cassidy’s forhead.

“You- “ he points an index finger at Alex “-you will tell me exactly what happened. No bullshit if you want him to be okay. Alright?”

The girl nods and Numbers turns to Matt.

“Phone.”  
He holds out his hand and Matt gives him the cordless.

“This is none of your business. Gather your things. Wait in the bedroom. Money’s in the drawer as usual. The less you know, the better.”

Matthew scowls, he opens his mouth as if to protest but something holds him back, the glint in Numbers’s eyes, the tone of voice. Instead, he turns on his heels and marches off into the bedroom. Seems like he’s already used to following orders around here.

 

“Did he get into a fight with his brother?” Numbers asks.

Again, the girl merely nods.

“How long ago?”

“A- about,” she peeks at her wristwatch, “one hour ago? Maybe more.”

Numbers groans. _Too long._

“Tell me what happened. Nice and slow.” His voice softens a little. “I want to help him. But I need to know everything to get you out of this mess.”

“We – we were. We worked on a bike. In his garage. And. His brother came in. Hammer. He was, angry? I don’t know! I don’t and OH MY GOD….” She's at a loss for words.

Numbers knows he musn’t let her panic. Cassidy doesn’t look like he’s able to tell him anything. The boy lost blood, he seems to be in some kind of shock. Whatever happened, the girl has to tell him.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Listen to me.” He takes a few steps towards her and goes down on his haunches, puts on his least menacing smile for her.

“He was angry at Cassidy?”

Tears well up in Alex’s eyes but she whispers, “Yes.”

“And what did Hammer do next? He come at you?”

“He came down the stairs, furious. And Cassidy – he said I should leave and…”

“But you didn’t?” Numbers suggests.

“NO! Hammer pushed me aside. And he went for Cassidy. Like, like he was truly mad! He tried to punch him. Did, did punch him.”

“And what did you do?”

“I – at some point I tried to stop him but he threw me off and I fell. It was all very quick…”

“What next?”

“They went down on the floor, Cassidy on top of Hammer? And I saw the tool. The wrench. I pushed it across the room into Cassidy’s hand and then… And he…” She buries her face in her palms.

“Cassidy hit Hammer? Is that it?” He needs to know.

“Yes. Right in… he – he hit him. In the face. Twice? There was so much blood.”

“Look at me now, this is very important.” Numbers moves Alex’ hands away from her face.

“What happened to Hammer afterwards? Did he black out? Did he scream? Did anyone see or hear?”

It takes a lot of effort but, Alex decides, the guy can help them. Wants to help Cassidy at least. She tries to pull herself together one last time.  
“He passed out. He didn’t move anymore. I looked at him. His face was crushed, I do not know if he even breathed. There was nobody else except Cassidy and me. We sat in the garage for some time. Nobody came.”

Numbers nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

He shoots a glance at Cassidy who sits on the couch, unmoving, eyes closed and presses the gauze pads to his face as he was told to do.  
Finally, Numbers gets to his feet and dials Jergen’s emergency number.

“Please make sure he doesn’t completely black out,” he says, nodding at Alex.  
  
It seems to take forever until Jergen’s voice is audible at the other end of the line.  
“We have situation.” Numbers sounds calm but inside he’s boiling.  
He moves across the room to have a little privacy as he rattles down the codes.  
Nobody is going to hurt the kid and get away with it.

 

In the bedroom Matthew continues to fully dress himself and then stuffs the few clothing items he brought in the duffel bag with the other “equipment.” When he’s finished he sits down on the bed.  
From the living room Numbers’s voice can be heard through the door.  
He knew there was something wrong with the man. Usually, those who can afford his services like to brag. But not this one. Always hush hush about his job. Cancelling dates, strange phone calls at night that summon him to secret meetings, weeks of absence without any contact at all. Paid good money though for the full boyfriend experience. He wouldn’t have guessed it from the size or location of the apartment.  
Aaron almost made him doubt his rules once or twice. A few weeks ago he even “forgot” to take the money but the week after Aaron simply paid him double fee and told him if it happened again, he needn’t come back.  
It had been pretty humiliating. Matt was a professional and this had been the first time he felt like he didn’t want the payment for his services. It made him angry to think about his faux-pas.  
Well, he won’t make the same mistake again.  
He opens the nightstand, takes out the money and counts the bills. It’s all there. The price people are willing to pay for the illusion of intimacy still amuses him even after 5 years on the job.

Then Numbers enters the bedroom.

“I need you to leave,” he says as he closes the door

A smile plays over Matt’a lips, “I guessed as much.”

“I see you found the money.”

Matt glances at the bills in his lap. “You don’t need to pay the full price for tonight.”

But Numbers shakes his head. “Look at it this way. Half is for your services. The other half ensures you’ve never been here today. Haven’t seen a thing. Buy yourself an alibi.”

“Discretion is one of my specialties.”

“Is it?” Numbers flashes his teeth. “I should very much hope so for your sake.”

“No need for threats. You need’t take me for a fool. I know very well when it is time to not have seen or heard a thing. This isn’t the first time, either.”

“Sorry…” Numbers runs a had through his hair.

“I gather our business relationship is over?” And now it’s Matt whose voice is all serious.

“Yeah.”

He gets up, stows the money away and shoulders the duffel bag. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

Numbers shrugs, “Try me.”

“He is the reason why, isn’t he? Did you ask for a blond with reddish tints and green eyes specifically when you called the agency? Or was it a coincidence?”

The other smiles and shakes his head. “Of course I asked. I think you better leave.”

It’s a pity that he had to put Matthew on Jergen’s list just 5 minutes ago.

 

When the bedroom door opens, Alex, out of the corner of her eye, watches the guy called Matt walk out of the apartment, never giving her or Cassidy a second look.  
She doesn’t know what to make of all of this. Cassidy kept referring to the man living here as Numbers. The doorbell says Aaron Goldstein. How does Cassidy know this man? How does he know a guy who helps people in case they KILLED someone? _WHAT THE FUCK?_ A low moan comes over her lips. She doesn’t want to think about this.  
Leaning closer to Cassidy, she puts her arm around him again. She needes to set her mind on something useful to do. There has to be a first aid kit in this apartment somewhere.  


A few minutes after Matt has left, Numbers enters the living room with a small black box in his hands.  
Carefully, he pats Cassidy on the shoulder and squats down in front of him.  
The other opens his eyes and looks at him with a blank expression.

 _\- I need to see the wound,_  Numbers signs.

Cassidy frowns but then removes the compress from his face.

“Please switch on the lamp next to the sofa and direct it towards his face,” this is addressed to Alex.

Numbers tilts up Cassidy’s head towards the light. The cut isn’t deep, but pretty long, at least two inches and it stretches down the right side of his face from ear to lower jaw in a slight curve. _Good thing the boy shaved this morning._

In the box is a bottle of Betadine and Numbers applies the antiseptic around the edges of the wound with a q-tip from a sealed plastic bag. Cassidy flinches but Numbers’s grip on his face is adamant.

“Try not to move.”

Next, he rummages in the box and pulls out a tiny bottle together with another sealed item that turns out to be a syringe.

“What are you doing?!” There is fear in Alex’s voice.

“I’m stiching the wound.”

“Are you a doctor?!”

He laughs, “No. But if you don’t have anything helpful to say, I’d suggest you shut the fuck up and let me work.”

Alex stares in disbelief but from the way Cassidy holds still in the stranger’s grasp she suspects it might be alright, he appears to trust the man. _They hugged!_

  
In the meantime, Numbers has injected small amounts of lidocaine along the wound. He chooses one of the smaller needle and thread combinations, a needle holder and scissors from the box. Nylon thread should do the trick on the face. _Right?_ Fuck, it’s been ages since he last had to do this, leave alone sew up a plainly visible part of someone’s body. Yet, to his surpise, his hands are steady as he wipes them with the antiseptic towels and pulls on the gloves.

“Turn the lamp a little. It musn’t throw a shadow where I’m working.”

He picks up the needle holder and grabs the small curved cutting needle with the pre-attached thread. With a soft click the clasp keeps the needle in place.  
Numbers takes a deep breath and then places the needle at a rough 90 degree angle against Cassidy’s skin. The tip punctures the upper layer of skin, goes a little deeper and Numbers twists his wrist to come out at the lower levels of tissue on the same side of the cut. Then he enters the subcutaneous tissue on the other side and comes out through the upper skin level again.  
With a soft pull the wound closes up and Numbers ties the suture with two knots using the needle holder. Then he cuts the thread.  
 _Shit_ , this used to come easier to him but it doesn’t look that bad, does it? Now he simply has to repeat the process about every few milimeters, tying neat little knots. _Fuck_. He was never one to exert patience but he’ll be damned if this comes out wrong.  
It takes him 10 stiches to close the cut up satisfactorily. At least most of them look half-way decent. And the boy can always grow mutton chops over the scar again, can’t he? _Oh shit. He better._

Numbers rummages in the box some more and produces antiseptic cream.  
At last he puts a gauze pad over the wound and applies surgical tape.

_“ – Okay. I think that’s it.”_


	28. Chapter 28

Since their arrival Cassidy has been in a state of stupor. But when Numbers applies the Betadine to his face, a fresh sensation of pain hits him and his mind is pulled back into the reality of the moment.

_What the fuck is going…. OH…OW!._

Numbers’s grip on his face tightens and it dawns on him what is coming next.  
Still, he doesn’t question what the older man is doing to him.  
Alex brought him here, right? She must have explained. He saw her talking to Numbers. He’s just going to close his eyes and be patient a bit longer. It will be okay. _Oh god._

Cassidy can’t help it, his mind wanders back to the scene in the garage over and over again.

Did he kill his brother? And if so, why does he feel nothing? No guilt. There is nothing of the sort. He bashed Hammer’s face in and all he can make out is a vague sense of relief somewhere inside.

 

A light tap on the arm interrupts his train of thought.

_“- I said, I think that’s it.”_

_\- Did I kill him?!_

Numbers raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t understand at first. When he makes the connection, he shrugs.

_\- Don’t know yet. We’ll find out soon enough. I have someone looking into it._

At the reply Cassidy’s eyes wander around the room.

Once more, Numbers kneels down in front of him.  
 _\- Look at me._ He puts a hand on the other’s knee.

Cassidy bites his lip and gazes right into Numbers’s face.

_\- I don’t give a single fuck if you killed that bastard or simply gave him a good beating. He’s dead anyways._

_\- What?!_

\- _What do you think happens to people who try to steal from the syndicate?_ A sardonic smile spreads over Numbers’s face.

Phoning Jergen over the disaster had proved to be better than expected in a situation like this. Turns out, Jergen has already been on Hammer’s tail for weeks if not months. A bashed in head probably only confirmed that there was a third parties involved and that Hammer had indeed gambled away a significant amount of their money in trying to set up a sidebusiness.

_\- You let me handle this, okay?_

All Cassidy can do is nod.

_\- I have one more question... The girl. She is your friend?_

_\- Yes._

_\- You trust her? Think carefully._

But Cassidy doesn’t have to think about the answer at all.  
 _\- Yes. She brought me here when she could have called the police… or an ambulance. PLEASE don’t…_

_\- … hurt her?_

_\- Yes. Please don’t. She… I would still be lying in my own blood in that damn garage if not for her._

Numbers doesn’t like it. The girl knows too much. She saw the deed done. She knows where he lives. And he should get rid of her just as he’s going to get rid of Matt. _Too many liabilities._ _Dammit_.

 

All the while Alex tries to follow the conversation but it’s hard. Her ASL skills are moderate at best, and the back and forth is confusing. On top of that, the guy’s signing is a little off, there is something erratic about it. Yet she can gather that they are talking about her and judging by his knitted brows and pursed lips, he’s not happy about her involvement. She tried to do right by her friend and now what?

“How did you get here? Taxi?” Numbers is on his feet again and has turned to Alex.

She shakes her head. “His sister’s car.”

“At least that’s something,” he scratches his head. “If you phone your parents. Leave a message you’re staying with Cassidy, would that be considered odd? Do you do that sometimes?”

“It happens, I guess.”

“Do not fucking guess. Just tell me, will there be questions asked?” He’s getting impatient.

“No. No questions…” A lump forms in the pit of her stomach. What is Cassidy’s ‘friend’ going to do? She really wants to trust him but she can’t shake off the bad feeling that while Cassidy might be safe, she is not.

“Okay, listen. You phone your parents, leave a message. You were working on a bike. Forgot time. Blablabla… teenage bullshit. You’re staying the night. Don’t worry mom and dad. Everything is fucking fine. You can do that, right?”

Numbers hands her the cordless.

“Like righ now?” her voice falters.

“Right now. Try to make it convincing for your sake and his, too,” he nods at Cassidy. “The last thing we need is nosy parents all over your ass.”

 

After Alex has placed the call, Numbers goes back in the bedroom.

 _“- What is going on?”_ she signs at Cassidy as soon as the other is out of sight.

Her voice trembles and her hands are shaking once she no longer has to put on a show.

_“- Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”_

But the words are a feeble consolation. Should she try and make a run for it? The thought crosses her mind, but no. That would surely make it worse for the both of them. Cassidy trusted her to get him here and she has no other option but to trust him.

 

When Numbers comes out of the bedroom he throws a pillow and fresh sheets at her.

_“- Here, you can sleep on the couch. Make yourself comfortable.”_

Then he locks the front door and puts the key in his pocket.

Numbers grins, _“- Better safe than sorry.”_

Something about that smile makes Alex’ skin crawl.

 _\- What about me?_ Cassidy manages to put in.

_\- You’re going to sleep in the fucking bed._

_\- You?_

Numbers’s face darkens, he clenches his teeth.  
 _\- I’m the lucky winner who gets to sleep on the floor in his own apartment because you all fucked up big time._

 _\- You’re still the same arrogant asshole._ Cassidy’s hands fly through the air.

_\- Shut up and get your butt in the other room. I’m serious._

Cassidy gets to his feet and Alex steadies him.

“It’s okay, I can walk by myself,” he gently pushes her arms away.  
He’s still wobbly on his feet but he’ll manage to go to the bedroom by himself, if simply out of spite.

“The bathroom is over there,” Numbers says and points to the door. “I think there’s a fresh toothbrush in the mirror cabinet should you want one.”

Alex stares. A moment ago the guy locked her in, sporting a vicious smile and now he offers her a toothbrush…?

“Listen, I know what this looks like,” Numbers offers and stuffs the cordless in his sweatpants, too, “and I’m afraid my patience is more than just a bit limited. But he said you’re his friend…”

“So?”

“… so you do what I tell you as best you can and keep quiet and against my better judgment, I’ll help you both out of this shit. Just don’t test my tolerance for bullshit girl. Try to sleep.” _I’m only doing this for him._

 

The little speech is all he can offer. But hopefully that’ll keep her in check until tomorrow. It all pretty much depends on what Jergen has to say in the morning.  
For now, it’s bad enough he has to face the mentally and physically hurt teenager in his bedroom. Maybe he can linger in the bathroom for an hour and sneak into the room as soon as he is sure Cassidy is asleep.

Or, maybe, he’ll cut out the crap and behave like a human being for once.


	29. Chapter 29

When he enters the room, Cassidy sits on the bed, his back against the wall.

Numbers closes the door and rummages in the closet for additional blankets, something he can pile on the floor as a sort of makeshift mattress. Bed sheets, two woolen blankets, a throw pillow; the prospect of sleeping on this is extremely sobering.  
Why the hell did he even let them in?! Now he’s an accomplice to their mess. And in the end it all boils down to him being unable to keep his dick in check ages ago.  
He throws the spoils from the closet to the floor and kicks them into place.

A muffled moan has him turn around. _Shit_ , he’s such a fucking jerk.

Cassidy has put his arms around his knees and is rocking back and forth. From time to time he makes a soft noise.

 _Aw man. No._ Why does he even care?

Numbers scratches his beard and sits down on the bed.  
 _To hell with it.  
_ He sidles up to Cassidy and puts an arm around him. The other doesn’t look up but stops the rocking movements.  
To soothe and comfort people is definitely not on his list of expertise. What is he supposed to do!? It’s one thing for him to professionally get rid of a corpse, he did that a dozen times or more in the past years. But it’s quite another thing to sit here with an agitated, hurt person in his arms. Someone he cares for, at that.  
 _Jesus Christ, I am so incredibly fucked up._

Taking a deep breath, Nmubers moves closer to Cassidy and kisses him softly on the side of the head. All the while he mumbles “It will be okay. You’re going to be all right. Promised…” He knows full well Cassidy can’t hear him but the words are mostly meant for himself anyway.

After a while Cassidy glances up at him.

The kid’s eyes are dry. He didn’t even cry, just sob? Numbers supposes that’s not a good sign. Not that he’s eager to have a crying teen in his bedroom but after shock, shouldn’t there be tears? Oh, what does HE know about such things.

_\- Do you want to lie down? I’ll go sleep on the floor._

But Cassidy shakes his head _. – No. Don't._

_\- Are you sure about this? I think it would be…_

WTF is he DOING here?! Why does he even discuss this instead of getting his ass out of bed.

But the other holds his gaze. _\- Can't we simply go to bed and have good night's sleep?_

Numbers’s eyes narrow and a half-smile plays over his lips.  
 _\- Asshole. Are you quoting me?!_

Cassidy shrugs.

_\- Okay, I mean, whatever. I’ll get you a Percocet and we go to sleep._

That being said, Numbers rifles through the nightstand until he produces a pack of pills.

 _\- Here_ , _take this._ He hands Cassidy a pill and the bottle next to the bed.

Cassidy nods and swallows it with a gulp of water.

In the meantime Numbers unzips the hoody and gets rid of his sweatpants. He is acutely aware of the way Cassidy stares right at the tattoo on his collar bone.

 _\- You need help with that?_ Numbers asks as the other is about to try and pull his shirt over his head.

_\- Yeah..._

The t-shirt is stained with blood and oil. Numbers tries to peel it off without hurting Cassidy. He has trouble keeping his hands steady as he grabs the hem and pulls the fabric up. For some reason he feels like he has to avoid skin contact at all costs.  
Why exactly is it that he can sew up Cassidy’s face but is too damn nervous to take off this stupid shirt.  
Eventually, he manages to get the piece of clothing over Cassidy’s head without doing any further damage.  
When the other unbuckles the belt on his jeans, Numbers quickly turns away, switches off the light and waits for the sound of pants dropping to the floor.

 

He crawls into bed beside Cassidy, uncertain.  
 _Now what?_  
The awkwardness of the situation stuns him. Lying on his back, Numbers barely dares to move a muscle.  
On top of it all, now he remembers what the real purpose of this evening was, what it was supposed to be like.  
Get his brains fucked out. Sleep like a rock.  
Not: Cover up possible murder, get into bed with teenager, never be able to have a good night's sleep in his own apartment ever again.

"I'm sorry." Cassidy's voice is flat, the darkness in the room absolute.

When Numbers takes his hand under the covers, it's cold and clammy. He draws it to his lips and breathes an “okay” against Cassidy’s fingertips.

He tries to remember his first kill and what it felt like but the memory is blurred. Long time ago. Some guy who owed the syndicate. Didn't know him. Wasn't even supposed to happen. At some point the numbers in the books didn't add up anymore. Guy didn't deny it.  
So he called Jergen about it and that was it. Liquidate. Numbers never questioned the order. He was the only one on site. He was annoyed enough to do it. Is that part of why he keeps doing the job? Because he’s so fucking angry all the time?

But this, his first was nothing like this.

While Numbers’s thoughts are occupied with the past, he pulls Cassidy close until the kid snuggles up to him, head on his bare chest. A shiver runs down his spine.

 

Cassidy isn't sure what to do at first. All he wants is to throw himself at the man beside him and forget everything. Not having to think about anything anymore is what he craves, to bury his face in darkness and have a long dreamless sleep.  
Perhaps he can wake up to a different scenario, a different timeline. Maybe he can wake up to that first morning in Numbers's arms when, for a single moment, it felt perfectly alright.  
But thankfully, after he blurbs out an awkward apology, Numbers draws him close.  
He takes in the scent of the other’s skin, salty sweat, the warmth of his body.  
After a while the Percocet kicks in and sleep has mercy on him.

 

Numbers is less lucky. Sleep won’t come.  
Cassidy’s breathing calms down, the chest heaves and sinks regularly but his own thoughts are running wild.  
Here he is – again – doing something he knows perfectly well is considered to be disgusting. It’s illegal, too. It isn’t in Minnesota though. Oh yes – he looked that up a few days before he shredded that phto with an apology addressed to Cassidy. _Jesus Christ…  
_ That was the moment he knew he had to do something more drastic, like find a legal fuck on a regular basis. At that time it seemed to be a splendid idea to pay for what he needed.  
And now he has to get rid of this complication, too. _DAMMIT._

In his arms, Cassidy twitches softly, making the little trembles that accompany sleep in its initial stage.  
Numbers groans.  
Fucking Matt was great. He’s a beautiful guy, maybe a little boring. But that might be due to the fact that it was all fake, right? Oh and wasn’t he flattered when the guy he paid for sex forgot to take the money one day?  
It was good.  
But it can’t compete in the least; not even with how it feels to have Cassidy here in this fucked up situation.  
It’s pitiful.

“I’m so terribly in love with you.” The words are out, echoing in the dark room, before he even knows he said them.


	30. Chapter 30

A faint ray of sunlight creeps through the blinds in Numbers's bedroom.  
He opens his eyes, tentatively, to test if it was just a dream, but even before he sees the body in his arms, he knows it's Cassidy. Not Matt.  
The other is snuggled up to him, the _Percocet_ must have taken him out for a while.  
Numbers closes his eyes once more, shuts out the light. Just a moment. He'll afford himself the luxury of enjoying this sensation of intimacy for just a moment.  
The smell of motor oil, dried blood and sweat is strong, Cassidy's skin hot as his fingertips graze over the other's arm.  
Soon he has to get up and go find out under what “cicumstances” Hammer died. Oh, and he'll have to come up with a little story of how he discovered the motionless body in the garage. It isn't easy to lie Jergen straight in the face. That Aussie guy has some damn good instincts.

 

Then Cassidy's hand twitches; a low groan and fingers rake over his chest. _He woke up. Great_.  
Numbers takes hold of the hand clawing at him and squeezes it.

Another moan emerges from Cassidy's lips and he coughs lightly.  
Eventually, his eyes open, and he realizes where he is. Numbers's apartment, this is Numbers's bedroom. And with a start Cassidy remembers the events of the preceding night as well. _NO_.  
His whole body convulses, pain spreads through his cheek and then Numbers's grasp on him tightens.  
He is pulled closer and upwards a little until they are face to face, noses touching.

“I'm here. You're safe.” Numbers mouths. The words make the older man’s stomach flutter the second he utters them.

Cassidy leans his forehead against Numbers's, he feels the other's breath on his face. Just a little more, if he leans in a tiny bit closer...  
And Numbers's lips make the connection. Soft, warm skin on his bruised face, Cassidy welcomes the kiss.  
It's different from before. There's nothing wild or hungry about it, nothing rushed.  
Instead, Numbers sucks lazily on his lower lip, then slides his tongue into Cassidy's mouth, probing.  
He gives off a pleasant, intoxicating heat. Their tongues play for a while, swirling over teeth, gums only to return to each other over and over again.

Never before has Cassidy been kissed like this.

Only, when the thought hits him, the moment turns sour. Images flicker before his eyes. The guy that was here last night. Numbers's boyfriend?! _Shit_.  
 _This is not real and I am only a guilty pleasure, nothing more._

He extracts himself from the other's grasp and rolls on his back, away from Numbers. His head is dizzy and he doesn’t know if it is a remnant from the painkillers or the sickening thought of being the glitch in somebody else’s life.

Even the fact that Numbers has saved his ass can't cancel out the betrayals he’s experienced. The mobbing, his brother's violence, his sister's growing indifference, Gavin too scared to commit to him, even in secret, until he's gone – the disapppointment hurts him. And Numbers’s goddamn _Boundaries_ tattoo is the perfect symbol of all the bad things that keep happening to him.

 

Should he roll over, too, get closer again or leave Cassidy be? Numbers isn’t sure. But before he has the chance to make up his mind, the conflicting thoughts and impulses are dissolved by the sound of the alarm clock. _No time.  
_ He kills the irritating noise, swings his feet out of bed and sits still. Then he turns around once more and taps Cassidy on the shoulder.

_\- I have to go, see if my contact managed to – clear things up. I’ll be gone for a while. Maybe you take another pill and get some more sleep?_

In reply, Cassidy gives him a nod.

Numbers extracts another _Percocet_ from the blister and puts it in the boy's hand.  
 _\- Here. Need some water?_

Cassidy merely shakes his head, pops the pill in his mouth and turns away from him.

Yeah, he probably deserves this. _Fuck everything._ What was he thinking? He should have slept on the goddamn floor. But he couldn’t because – what? Because he’s weak. Because a part of his brain seems to malfunction whenever the kid is close to him.

With a sigh Numbers gets up and grabs a few clothing items. He tiptoes to the door, opens it and takes a peek in the living room.  
The girl appears to be asleep on the couch so he walks, barefoot, across the room, trying not to wake her up as he closes the bathroom door.

 

In the bedroom, Cassidy spits the pill back in his hand. No drugs. He needs to be as clear headed as possible.  
He turns to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand. In an hour he should be safe to get up without Numbers being around anymore. Or, perhaps, Alex will have sense enough to come look for him as soon as they’re alone.


	31. Chapter 31

When Numbers comes out of the bathroom half an hour later, he’s fully dressed and his hair groomed to perfection.  
Alex sits on the couch with her back to him, hunched over a book.  
 _Ah, don’t touch my shit, girl._  
But Numbers lets it slide. It’s important that he manages to uphold the right mix of trustworthiness and intimidation.  
“What are you reading?” he asks.

She looks up and turns around.  
“Oh.”

Numbers tries an encouraging smile.

“This.” Alex holds the book up, _Say it with Hands_. “Occupy my mind.”

Numbers gives her a nod and then crosses the room to fix himself a coffee at the kitchen counter.  
“You want a cup?”

She hesitates but then decides to take the offer. “Yes, yes please.”

 

Routinely, Numbers goes through the motions and pours two black coffees.

“You take sugar or milk?”

“Sugar.” “Two lumps?”

He puts the sugar in, stirs the coffee and carries it over to the couch to hand her the mug.

“Here.”

“Um, thank you.” Alex hands are a bit shaky as they close around the porcelain.

Numbers sits down across from her in on of the two black armchairs. He leans forward, settling on the edge of the seat with the cup of coffee held on his knees.

“I need you to listen carefully,” he says.

Alex stares at him wide-eyed. _Ah shit. Here it comes._

“I’m going find out how your little ‘situation’ was handled by my contacts.Make sure nobody finds out you two were involved. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

Now that he has her full attention, Numbers needs to assess what to feed her next. The honesty speech? The commitment bullshit? Well, not that he’s not committed to Cassidy. But the girl is only alive because the kid would hate him even more if anything happened to her. And killing innocent girls would raise a hell of a shitstorm in the community. Would make it into the local paper, story stretched out and exploited over months. Crying parents, honorable citizens who knew her will get a say; the full press experience.  
Yet, there are other things to consider. If he has the feeling she’ll crack and spill the story to anyone, he won’t hesitate and take care of the problem. I’ll be a balancing act.

“I really want to help Cassidy, okay? We – we go way back to before he moved here. I owe him. [ _Lie?_ ] And I will keep the both of you out of this mess. [ _Perhaps_.] But I can only do that if you do exactly what I tell you to.” He makes a pause for emphasis and takes a sip of coffee.  
“You cannot talk to anyone else about this. Not your friends, not your mom and dad, not fucking ANYone. Do you hear me?”  
Numbers puts the mug down on the couch table between them with a loud clunk and bares his teeth.

“Yes, I – I understand.”

“You’ll wait here a little longer, then you take a taxi home, get out at a side street, though. You will use the back entrance of the premises to leave. Understood? Repeat it to me.”

Alex stares but when Numbers scowls at her she rehearses the speech. “I wait some more. I leave through the back entrance. I take a taxi home. Make it stop at a side street so nobody sees me.

“What’s your story?”

“My story?”

“For your parents. What did you do? Did you have fun, honey?” He can’t help mocking her.

“Oh.”  
“Well, we worked on that bike Cassidy got from the garage. You know, the one I told you about. But the thing’s a bitch. Something is off with that machine if you ask me. So I guess, we lost track of time. Sorry, dad. Won’t happen again. I should have phoned earlier.” She shrugs and smiles making puppy dog eyes at him.  
“See. I’m not a complete idiot.” _Who am I trying to impress here?_

“Don’t overdo it.” Numbers warns.

“And if you have to make up any details. Do yourself a favor and tell Cassidy so your stories match.”

Alex nods and drinks from her coffee.

“Take my advice. If you know what’s good for you, girl, go home and forget about yesterday. Make up a neat little story in your mind. How you worked all night and you slumped down on the ratty couch in the living room and fell asleep. Imagine how you got up sore and stiff and had breakfast with Cassidy and then went home. Rehearse that false memory often enough and it will make the bad things recede. At least most of the time.”

“You sound as if you know what you’re talking about.” She looks at the cup in her hands, her eyes trailing the ugly floral print.

 _Bullshit_. Numbers shrugs. “Yeah.”

For the moment he’ll leave her to her thoughts. He gulps down the last of his coffee, gets up from the armchair and puts the mug back on the kitchen counter. Then he grabs a pen and a piece of paper and writes a quick note for Cassidy.

“I’m leaving now,” he says when he’s finished.

“Cassidy took another _Percocet_ to get some sleep. I think it’s best if you wake him and give him a heads up before you leave, though. He should stay here until I’m back. I wrote him a note but - ”

“You want me to tell him to stay, too, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It would be a good idea. He needs to be briefed. And I’m sure he wants to know what exactly – happened – to Hammer.” _Just tell him.  
_ He puts on a pair of dark leather boots, shrugs into his coat then wraps a striped woolen scarf arouns his neck.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She shudders. _So that’s what it feels like when someone walked over your grave._

“One more thing,” Numbers turns around, hand frozen on the doorknob, “if you feel the need to talk about any of this ever. Badly. In an emergency. You reach out to Cassidy. Only Cassidy. If that’s absolutely impossible, the name on the door is in the phone book.”

 

As soon as he’s out of the apartment, he searches his coat pockets for a smoke. He lights the cigarette and greedily inhales the smoke.  
 _Jesus_ , the crap you have to feed people, the lengths you go to. Unbelievable he said that last thing to her. But his options are limited. Better the girl phones him and not anyone else. He can’t afford to have her blurt out secrets to anyone.  
Hopefully, he pulled this off half-way convincing.

 

\---

 

She sits on the couch and stares into the empty coffee cup. The guy, Mr. Goldstein or Numbers, or whatever, gives her the creeps. Eyes that bore into hers, teeth bared with every not-so-hidden menace, he’s quite intimidating. His advice seemed reasonable enough though. Try to forget about it.  
 _Forget about it?! An accessory to crime, that’s what I am, no? Oh my god. Don’t freak out Alex. Don’t freak out. Breathe. In. And out. In. And out..._  
She buries her face in the sieve of her hands.  
There are not many options left, she can either go to the police or do what Numbers says. Police. It would have been an option yesterday when she wasn’t up to her elbows in shit herself. And even if she weren’t implicated in the crime - that man knows people who routinely get rid of bodies?! He’d find her, wouldn’t he? _Yes._  
When she does as she’s told, will he still come for her? Perhaps. Her only hope is that Cassidy and the stranger are close enough so that her friend can put in a word for her. Remembering the embrace and the way Numbers touched Cassidy, well, could be she has a chance if she keeps her head down.

 

The sound of the bedroom door shakes Alex out of her thoughts. She turns around.

“ _\- Is he gone?_ ” Cassidy signs.  
He looks disshevelled, his hair sticks out in all directions at once and he wears a shirt that’s a bit too short and tight to be his.

 _\- Yes._  
“I thought you were asleep on painkillers.”

Cassidy shrugs and sits down next to her on the couch. _“- Didn’t take the last one. I pretended to swallow it but_ _I_ _sp_ _a_ _t it out.”_

“Doesn’t your cheek hurt?”

“ _\- Ye_ _s. I_ _t does. A bit.”_  

“Maybe you better go back to bed,” Alex suggests. “I’m supposed to wait here some more and then go home.”

He doesn’t reply, only looks at her, sitting there next to him, wringing her hands, eyes fastened to the floor.

Cassidy taps her on the shoulder.  
“ _\- Hey. Are you – are you okay? He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”_ _Shit. He shouldn’t scare her._

“ _\- No.”_ A shiver runs down her spine.  
“Fuck. I’m scared, Cassidy. What kind of guy is he? How do you know such people?” She moves both hands before her chest, making the sign for “frightened” to emphasize her words.

The feeling of guilt at the pit of his stomach sickens him. He realizes that he dragged her into this. And the thought of leaving her behind makes it even worse. Does Numbers’s help really extend to her also? He hopes so.

“ _\- I know this is not much of a consolation but if he wanted to get rid of you or me, I think he – he would have –_ “

“- done it already.” She finishes the sentence for him.

Cassidy nods. “ _\- I believe he wants to protect me. And that entails keeping you safe._ ”  
“ _\- Man, I am so sorry I got you into this Alex._ ” It’s a sincere feeling and therefore hurts even more.  
He leans forward and hugs her.

Alex’ fear and the pain throbbing through his cheek almost drive him to reconsider his plan. _No, it’s no use._ _He has to do this or he'll never be able to.  
_ “You’re the only person not to have turned on me, you know.” _Not yet._ _Still, i_ _t_ _s_ _harder to face the fact that I will_ _betray_ _you soon enough._

They sit like that on the couch for a while until Alex finally lets go of him.

“I can’t stand being in this place any longer. I’ll just leave and take a taxi home. I got some money.”

“ _\- Okay. Did he, like, instruct you what to say a home?”_

– _Yes  
_ “He also said to tell you that he left a note,” Alex points to the counter. “And to wait for him. He’ll be back to let you know what he found out.”

_\- Alright._

Alex gets up and puts on her jacket and shoes.  
“I’ll call the taxi from the nearest phone booth, I think.”

Cassidy follows her to the door to hug her once more.  
“Listen, I’ll meet you tomorrow, at the parking lot, half an hour before school starts, okay? You just have to hold out until then.”

“Yeah, okay. Will do.”

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

On the kitchen counter he finds the message Numbers left for him.

“I sent your friend home. She'll be okay. Please wait for me. I'll try and get back soon. We can work this out. #”

 _The fuck we can.  
_ Cassidy crumples the piece of paper in his hand. _Are you shitting me?_ _There's nothing to work out._  
On second thought, though, he smoothes the note out again, reads it over, folds it up and stashes it in his pocket.

Now where are the car keys? If Alex took a taxi, Dovetail's car should be parked outside and ready for a quick getaway.  
Cassidy looks around. The apartment is neat and tidy. Nothing seems out of place, except for… Over there on the book shelf he can make out the key ring with the tiny knitted doll attached to it. That's it.  
He grabs the keys and puts these in his pocket as well.

 _How many books on ASL does Numbers own? Shit._  
His curiosity gets the better of him and he takes out a random volume and opens it. Almost every page has notes on it.  
The blood rushes to his face but he shakes the feeling off.  
It's no use, he's got to get out of Fargo.

There's only one problem. He needs money. Stealing from Numbers seems out of the question, though. Besides, he doesn't want to waste any time searching the apartment.  
He has money stashed at home in his room, his earnings from the job at the garage. And he knows that Dovetail hides a little something in her desk these days. If he can get to that, he'll be fine. It sure would be a good thing to grab some clothes, too.  
How dangerous is it to go back? Are Numbers's people still around? Hammer kept most of his papers at the office, so there's not much of interest in the house itself. But you never know...  
 _Hammer.  
_ A wave of nausea washes over him and he closes his eyes.  
 _I have to go through with this. Get away from here. Forget about everything. After all, the bastard deserved to die._

Cassidy decides he has to give it a try. It's his best shot to get a substantial sum of money quickly.

 

Dovetail's car might be familiar to the guys Numbers works with so he parks it at a safe distance from the house.  
He has borrowed Numbers's blue sweater to wear under his thrift store army jacket and puts up the hood so nobody sees his bruised face. If he detects something suspicious, he'll run for the car.  
But the street is empty and the house looks quiet in the winter monrning’s cold light. There are no suspicious vehicles parked on the curb and the driveway is empty. The garage door is closed, same as it was yesterday.  
Cassidy squares his shoulders and straightens up. It's his home, he lives here, the neighbors know him. There is no need to sneak around unnecessarily. With a confidence he doesn't quite feel, he walks up the path to the front door and opens it.  
The hallway is empty so he enters and closes the door as softly as possible. Then he waits. He doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, the house seems to be in the exact state he left it and nobody comes running downstairs to see who arrived either.  
Should he check and make sure that the first floor is empty or rather go upstairs? He decides to take option number two, keep this as short a visit as possible.

In his room he retrieves his earnings from the sock drawer, stuffs the money in a backpack and piles layers of clothes on top.  
At last he takes a look around to see if there's anything else he should take and notices the piece of paper on the desk. Did he leave this here?  
Turns out, he didn't. It's a note from his sister, a warning that never found him in time. He groans. _No, no, no, no. This isn't real. Is it?  
_ Dovetail tried to warn him but he never saw it because he never went upstairs yesterday and instead went to work on his bike with Alex and Tim right away.  
In a rush of frustration he shreds the note to pieces and throws these to the floor.  
 _FUCK ALL OF YOU.  
_ How did Hammer even find out? How – if not – ? NUMBERS?! Why would he do that, implicate himself in something like this. _Nonsense_.  
He can't think straight. It's all a whirr and a blur in his head.  
And then he slaps himself on the stitched up cheek.  
White pain blossoms and spreads across Cassidy's face. The hurt has a sobering effect. What's past is past and cannot be changed. It doesn't matter. Here's here now, he has a car, the means to escape. _FOCUS_.

“I left you money in the glove compartment of my car.”  
  


Cassidy is already halfway out of the room when he stops and turns around. His eyes are fixed on the bed, or rather, the space below it.

 _SHIT._  
Can't leave this here for anybody to find ever.  
He pulls the box with Numbers's photos out from under the bed to take it along, shoulders the backpack and leaves the house for good.  
His mind is already hard at work when he throws his belongings on the backseat. Dovetail won't be back in at least two weeks judging by the contents of the note.  
Numbers, however, will soon find out that he is gone. Question is, will he DO anything about it?  
And by tomorrow, Alex will notice he's gone when he doesn't show up before school.

 

In the glove compartment he finds 1500 bucks. _Wow_. His sister must have had a seriously troubled conscience to leave such an amount of money.  
Fine by him. He reckons it's a good bargain if she gets rid of both him and Hammer with it

Cassidy settles in the driver’s seat, puts his favorite Bon Jovi album in the car's tape deck and, blasting it at an outrageous volume, he leaves town.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Numbers:**

 

The corpse has been taken care of, the blood in the garage long mopped up and the worst appears to be over when Numbers arrives at the syndicate building  
Still, the wrap-up takes forever. Will the questions never end? Why was he at Hammer’s place? Did he move anything in the garage? Did he see anybody leave? Did he remove anything from site? Is he sure the neighbors didn’t see him?  
Jesus Christ, he isn’t some green kid who recently joined the syndicate to get a glimpse at the underworld.  
But Jergen is merciless, meticulous, Numbers anticipated that. He is prepared to answer all of the questions. He doesn’t try to fake he’s sorry either, it would make them more suspicious at best. Jergen knows Numbers hates Hammer, complained about him for years in his nagging, obsessive way.  
  
It all goes smoothly until, towards the end of the interview, the Australian tilts his head, the restless eyes focused for once, “What about the boy?”

“What boy?” _There it is._

“The younger brother. The deaf one. Was he at the house?”

He should have known better, of course Jergen remembers.  
Squinting a little, Numbers shrugs. “Don’t know. Didn’t see him around. Site appeared to be cold and I didn’t go upstairs, knowing Dovetail was out on a hit. Guess I forgot to check.”

“Forgot.” Jergen’s voice is flat. He contemplates the answer.

“Uh-hu.”

“You’re getting sloppy again Numbers, eh? Keep that up and I’ll partner you up with someone.”  
  
_Why can’t this just go away?_ Numbers gnashes his teeth. “Not. Necessary.”

The Australian looks at him sternly a few more seconds until something seems to switch and the expression on his face eases.

“Not necessary, huh? Yes, that’s what this dude, Flamingo, said when he still worked for us. I mean until one day – funny story – okay not so much funny but tragic –keep it in mind anyways – good lesson - so we sent him on a series of hits in Arizona – you remember the Arizona crisis – right? – That was him and a bloody mess it was, too. (…) ”

At this point Numbers zones out. He has heard this admonition before. So has every fucking employee who’s been part of the syndicate EVER. Yaddayaddayadda.

The good news is that Jergen is happy enough to take the whole disaster for a confirmation of his own conjectures and suspicions about Hammer’s business on the side. And as far as Numbers is able to gather, a search at Hammer’s office has already brought to light some proof.  
The whole operation will be unraveled, a few employees will disappear and then the deal will be given to somebody else.  
In the end, when Numbers asks what will happen to Dovetail, Jergen merely grins. “We’ll have Letters keep her close. Keep an eye on her. Congratulations, you’re officially relieved from this case, Numbers. You’ll be reassigned soon. Go home, order your things if you need to, might be a trip out of town.” He winks.

_You have no idea how bad I need to do this, Jergen._

Numbers is eager to get away and go home to check on Cassidy.

 

At the apartment he finds that Alex is gone, just as he told her. Only when he looks for Cassidy in the bedroom, the kid has disappeared, too.  
_Shit. No.  
_ He discovers the answer to his note on the kitchen counter a few minutes later.

“We cannot work this out, I’m not some kind of toy you can play around with when it suits you and toss in the corner afterwards. I decided to go and I won't come back to Fargo. I'll not cause you any more trouble. Thanks for patching up my face. I took some of your painkillers.  
Alex did exactly as you told her. Please don't hurt her. She's the only person that ever stuck her neck out for me. Besides you. Just don't hurt her. She won't tell. I promise.  
**Ɔ=C**  
PS: Don’t think for a second I didn’t notice that guy looked like me.”

 

Numbers takes a deep breath. _Fuck it. Fuck you kid._  
He brushes the note and the used coffee cups aside with a movement of his arm and it all clatters to the floor. _Cassidy, you little shit._  
In his anger, he kicks the counter only to yell out in pain as he nearly breaks a toe.

“FUCK EVERYTHING.”

He should have locked them both in this morning. No. He should have gotten rid of the girl. Ah hell NO. He should NEVER have opened his door to them last night in the first place. What was he thinking?  
Nothing. Thinking with his dick. Ha, no. Not even that, right? Wasn't his dick saying “I love you” in the dark.  
He bites his tongue until he tastes blood knowing that he needs to calm down. Think. Not wreck the place.

“Oh goddammit.” Numbers runs a hand through his black hair and paces across the living room.

Finally, he slumps down in an armchair.  
So Cassidy is gone. _WHATEVER. Go. GO FAR. Run away and get out of my life.  
One problem less on my plate, right? Right?_

“DON'T YOU THINK I'LL GO LOOK FOR YOU! CAUSE I WON'T!” he shouts into the silence.

He needs to get this back under control. Let the kid run and good riddance.  
_Yes. No more temptations. No more sappy thoughts of romance. Yuck._  
With Cassidy gone, only the girl is left then, a potential time bomb.  
He makes a mental note to call in a favor and get someone on her tail just in case.  
What else? Dupe Jergen, let Cassidy go, put Alex under surveillance - Dovetail will be Letters's problem to deal with. Not too bad.  
Except for the box filled with messages and photographs that is potentially still in Cassidy's room or hidden someplace else in the house. Did Hammer find it? Was that how he knew? Well, Aussie didn't discover it, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten off the hook with a mere question about Cassidy's whereabouts.  
_Great_.  
Full of rage at the world, Cassidy and his own stupidity, he briefly considers going to the house to search it right this instant. But if someone found out, he'd be fucked for real.

No, he needs to do this the smart way.

   
~~~  
  
  
**Alex** :

Monday morning before school Alex waits in the parking lot at their usual spot. The air is cold and she rubs her gloved hands together in a futile attempt keep them warm.  
Cassidy should have been here 10 minutes ago.  
She waits some more and, after a while, Tim shows up. His face is half hidden by the parka's oversized hood but she recognizes the idiotic swagger.

He wipes his nose, reddish and frozen, on his sleeve.  
“Hey honey bee. Are you happy to see me?” A grin spreads over his face.

“No. Where is Cassidy?” she snaps back.

“Wow, wow, wow... Don't blame the messenger.”

“Messenger.”

“Yeah.” Tim fumbles with the gloves and then fishes an envelope out of his pocket.  
“Here.”

Alex glowers but snatches the paper out of his hand.  
“Did you read it!?”

“It's sealed dummy. Besides, I'd never incur your wrath on purpose.”

She opens the letter and reads through it while Tim looks on.  
_This is bad._ 'I'm gone. I won't come back.' What does that even mean? Gone? 'Numbers doesn't know. But you can show him this, should he care to ask.'  
She groans.

“What? What is it? Can I read it?”

Tim leans in closer to get a peek at the note but Alex turns away.

“NO, idiot. You can't. That's why it was sealed in the first place.” The words come out sharper than intended.

“What did I ever DO to you?!”  
He hides his gloved hands in the parka’s pockets and frowns, a hurt look on his face.

“Bad news is a bad guest,” she mumbles and reads the words over again.

'I am sorry to have put you through this. But you'll all be better off without me.'  
_OH BULLSHIT.  
_ What is she supposed to do with Cassidy gone? 'Keep a low profile.' _WHAT?_ 'Go to college. Forget about this.' Oh my, _did he copy this out of a bad novel, see it in a cheesy movie?!_

She doesn't even know any more whether she's angry or scared. _What now?_

So she helped him out of this and to thank her he runs and leaves her behind in the “care” of a criminal. _Nice move._  
While she computes the information and what it means, her hands clutch the paper, crumple the note into a little ball that she hides in her jacket.

This is not happening. It's all a bad dream and she'll wake up soon and laugh about it. Won't she? _Nope_.

“Are you okay?” Tim's voice cuts through to her, eventually. His scowl has vanished and is replaced by an expression of worry.

“He- he - left,” she stammers.

“Left? What do you mean? Did you-” he hesitates, “Did you two have a thing or what?”

“Huh?! God, no. He didn’t leave ME.” Alex shakes her head. “I mean he left this shit pile of a town to do, to go...I don't know. The note doesn't say.”

Tim's eyes widen. “Shit. You mean he bailed out on us? Why? His shitty brother got anything to with that? Oh, I bet he does.”

“Can't say.” Alex purses her lips. She can't tell Tim. He mustn't be dragged into this any further.  
There's no reason to be loyal to Cassidy anymore but she is smart enough to realize that whatever she spills, she'd be implicated in a crime herself.

“Pff, I bet he'll be back after a few days. You'll wait and see I mean he always talked about getting out here. But really...” Tim tries to make light of it.

“I doubt he'll come back.” _If he knows what's good for him he runs fast and far._  
The thought that she's utterly alone hits her hard and sudden.  
Tears gather in her eyes and she's hard pressed to choke them back. A sob escapes her lips nevertheless.

“You know, I'm still here,” Tim says. “And I'm not going anywhere soon.”  
“I mean. Like. If – if you wanna talk or something.” He is fully aware of his own clumsiness but man, he's never seen her close to tears. Must be something pretty bad going on. _Shit. Fuck you Cassidy._  
“Listen here,” he takes hold of her hand. “Let's get out of here and have breakfast. Yes? My treat. Let's skip school for today, huh?”

Alex shrugs but gives him a slight nod.

“Okay, come on. We'll drive around a little first.”

 

~~~

  
Alex doesn't tell Tim right away. Not that day, not the next. But when Cassidy doesn't come back and week after week passes without word from him, she cracks. At first she considers calling that Numbers guy, takes up the receiver a dozen times, her finger on the number in the phone book. She's too scared to talk to him, however. Doesn't want to see him ever again if possible.

So she confides in the only friend she has left. Tim promises not to tell.  
‘Lie low.’

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Dovetail** :

 

When Letters, in a low voice, tells her that Hammer is dead, Dovetail knows things must have gone South at home _._  
She has been worried ever since this job began and after a week, on the plane back to North Dakota, Letters drops the bomb.  
Her brother is gone, most likely the outcome of his attempt to cheat the syndicate.  
Initially, Dovetail is too shocked to ask any questions, but after a while she is able to pull herself together.

“What – what about Cassidy? Was he hurt?”

Letters doesn’t know. They didn’t even mention him when they told her to pass the info on to Dovetail, prepare her for what’s going to await her at home after the hit is done.  
The Australian said Hammer had been murdered. They had decided to give Dovetail another chance, though, as long as she would agree to forfeit all claims to the business and consent to put herself under Letters’s care.

“Would you?”

Anything to stay alive in these shark infested waters. She would do anything.

In a way, knowing something happened but not exactly what went down is even worse. Of course there is the off chance that Cassidy got the note and ran, that Hammer really dug his own grave but it’s unlikely.  
In all probability Hammer called his little brother out and the shit hit the fan.

 

When she comes home, the house looms at the end of the street, waiting for her to discover whatever has really happened.  
Letters offers to come inside, to stay a little while, take off the edge but Dovetail politely declines. They’ll see each other at debriefing tomorrow morning. Jergen will have questions. Until then she needs to be alone with her thoughts.

She can barely contain herself not to run up the path to the front door. With Letters watching, though, she manages to keep a calm manner. Only her hands shake a little when the puts the key in the lock.  
In the hall a single lightbulb illuminates the wardrobe, Hammer’s jacket, men’s shoes, yet nobody’s home.  
_Of course not, stupid._  
Her eagerness to find out what happened suddenly dwindles as she’s faced with the facts. She is alone in the big house, her life depending on whether some strangers decide she’s useful to them or not, whether they think she can be trusted or not.  
_“Why did I do this?”_ She’s been asking herself that question ever since she left for the airport with Letters. For the same reason she sawed off that guys fingers?  
Shouldn’t she be happy that she got her sweet revenge on Hammer? That this useless piece of shit is gone forever? That he won’t bully her anymore? Her secret is safe. The proof of her first kill died with Hammer. And nobody’s ever going to beat her up in her own home either.  
And yet, when she walks upstairs into Cassidy’s room, a tight knot forms at the pit of her stomach. _What about him?_  
Her little brother is gone but on the floor she finds a few torn pieces of paper that were part of her note to him.  
He was here and found it. A spark of hope flickers up. If he read this, he knew about the money in the car.  
Dovetail turns on her heels, runs downstairs and checks the glass bowl near the door. The car keys are gone and when she peeks in the garage, it’s empty. So her car is gone, too. That means whatever happened, Cassidy probably got away. _Please, please, please be alright._

Hammer’s room looks like several bombs exploded in there. Obviously, it has been searched or rather torn apart piece by piece. They even slit the mattress and unscrewed some of the furniture. _Jeez_.  
Dovetail goes through the leftovers anyways. Anything that can give her a clue about what happened is welcome.  
At first she doesn't notice but after the second or third time, she realizes that the doorbell is ringing.  
She drops a piece of wood that was once part of a desk and freezes.  
_Who is that?_  
Have they sent someone to get rid of her? _Oh GOD._ No... if they wanted to kill her, Letters could have done that even before they touched ground in North Dakota.  
_Get your shit together._  
Most likely it's just Letters ignoring her wish to be alone, bringing her a bag full of junk food.  
She takes a deep breath sand walks downstairs to the front door.  
  
Through the spy hole she recognizes Numbers, though, and her heart skips a beat.  
_Okay, stay calm. Stay. Calm._ Dovetail straightens her dress, wipes her hands on the fabric and opens the door.

The fucking asshole smiles at her, baring his teeth.

“My condolences,” he says in a low, soft voice.

She stares at him, too scared to talk at first

“May I come in?” Numbers cocks his head and does that thing where he sways back and forth on his feet.

Still a little paralyzed, Dovetail nods, then opens the door wide to let him pass.

“Ah, no feet running around upstairs, no ranting lunatic in the living room. Must be nice all that peace and quiet. No?”

They face each other in the hallway, Numbers in an impeccable suit, hair slick and shiny, his expression set in stone – she, disheveled and grimy from going through Hammer's leftovers, a film of sweat forming on her forehead.

“Fuck you.”

Numbers smirks, faint laugh lines show around his eyes.

“What do you want?” She tries to sound as defiant as possible, holds his gaze as best she can.

But Numbers ignores her question and his eyes wander over the wardrobe.  
“Guess you'll soon have a yard sale coming up with all that junk in here. Maybe you can afford to buy a new couch then, huh?”

_Jeez, why is he tormenting me like this?_

“What is it? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Whatever cool she still had in her is completely gone. It's all a little too much for one day to be sure.

He fixes her with his dark eyes and the smile vanishes.

His words are barely more than a hiss, “You have something that belongs to me and I want it back.”

“And – and w-what would that be?” She is trembling, aware all of a sudden that Numbers knows a thing or two about what went down here.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. Annoyance spreads over his features. “We're playing it like this?”  
“Your big brother is dead, your baby brother left, you'll live. I really think a little cooperation isn't too much to ask.”

Numbers brings his face up close to hers and Dovetail feels his breath on her cheeks.

“Is – is Cassidy okay?” she stammers.

“Oh, I suppose so. But why would I know that? Hm?”

Her heart beats like crazy in her chest. _Please don't know that I gave that box to Hammer._

Now Numbers brings his right hand up to her throat, slow, deliberately, his fingers closing around her flesh without exerting any real pressure yet.  
His hand is icy, like a metal lock ready to spring shut.

“Where IS it?”

She presses her lips together.

“Show me his room?” The grip tightens a little, starts to choke her.

Finally, a faint nod and he removes the hand from her throat.

 

Someone left in a haste. Drawers are open, clothes pulled out of the closet and strewn on the floor.  
Numbers takes it all in.  
_Shit, I bet some of these sweaters still smell like him._  
Focus, idiot. Focus.  
It's paramount that Dovetail doesn't notice how uneasy this place makes him.  
He walks up to the desk, rifles through the things on top, a few sorted notes from school, sketches of hands.  
Next, Numbers opens the drawers, takes out stuff, stacks it on the desk. Nothing. He ambles over to the closet, randomly takes out clothes, clears shelves, pulls out a pair of boxer shorts with dicks on it, unfolds it, gives it an amused look, chuckling.

In the end, Dovetail can't stand it anymore. This creepy asshole rifling through her baby brother's things, his underwear and hidden porn and –YUCK. It all makes the contents of the weird messages and photos come back to her; the kiss in the car she witnessed, too. _This is disgusting._

“It's under the bed!” she bursts out. “It's under the bed!”

_At last..._

Numbers grins. “Thank you. See, it wasn't that hard, was it?”

He dives under the bed and pulls out a stack of magazines. And that's it. Nothing more.  
“There is nothing there.”  
Incisors exposed, he comes at her.  
“It's NOT there.”

“I – I. What? It was there, I swear. I swear! It's always been hidden under the bed.”

For the time being, Numbers is too angry to realize what her words imply.

Instead, he comes at her hard and fast, goes for the throat while pushing her against the wall with the weight of his body.

“For Chrissake woman. Where are the photos?”

“I don't know! Under the bed – they were under the bed!”

Nostrils flaring, he grabs her shoulders and slams her into the wall, then let's go, turning away.  
_Shit, shit, shit. He had feared as much. Gotta make sure._

“Maybe he took them with him?” Dovetail offers feebly. Her words are accompanied by a light cough as she rubs her throat.

When Numbers faces her once more, there's a butterfly knife in his hands.

Instinctively, she shrinks away from him but trips backwards into the wall.

He takes a few steps towards her, resting the tip of the weapon lightly on her jugular.  
“It's a pity we have to do this the inconvenient way. You know, I used to like you. - A little. Now, not so much anymore.”

Dovetail swallows hard, tries not to move a muscle. She should never have opened the door to this psycho. Or – should have bullied him out right away. It's too late. She tries something funny, she is sure he'll cut her open from head to toe, gut her like a fish.  
Numbers doesn't like games, Dovetail knows as much. Give him what he wants.

“Yes,” she croaks. “I understand.”

“Tell me again, where are the photos, the messages. You know what I'm talking about.” Numbers squints, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“He, Cassidy, kept them in a box under the bed. Behind those porn magazines.”

“Uh-hu. Go on.”

The tip of the knife digs a little deeper into her skin.

“I know because I saw it. Hammer showed it to me but we put it back. Hid it behind the junk again so Cassidy wouldn't know we found it.”

Numbers contemplates the info for a bit but at this point he isn't even interested in who did what in this mess. He simply wants to make sure the proof of his misguided affection doesn’t get into the wrong hands.

“I guess he must've taken the box along when he left.”

Lips pursed, Numbers puts a little more pressure on the blade until a bead of blood appears.

“That may be true. Or it may not. Here's the deal. Should I ever, ever find out you lied to me. Should I ever see one of these items turn up in your possession – I kill you. I'll rip you open and tear out your insides to feed them to you.” His voice is strangely calm, sounds almost a little amused.  
  
“Yes. I understand.” She closes her eyes.  
The pressure on her throat eases and when she looks up again, Numbers has moved away from her and put the knife back in his coat.

“Just don’t fuck with me. Do call me if my items surface unexpectedly.”  
Numbers turns to go but halts in mid-motion, “Oh, and as you may have guessed, as of today I’m being re-assigned to another operation.”

He flashes his teeth at her one last time and then just leaves her standing there, leaning against the wall, a faint trickle of blood running down her throat.


	35. Chapter 35

At home alone in his apartment Numbers smokes through a pack of Chesterfields and drinks vodka right out of the bottle.

He blew it. Epic proportions. Once, he thought he'd fucked up his life when he realized he had gotten himself into organized crime without a possibility to talk his way out of it again. But he has long since learned that making a mess of things as an employee of the syndicate is much worse than getting into crime in the first place. He broke one of the most important rules when he got involved with Cassidy and he knows it, too. Made it much worse even when he produced physical evidence as proof his affections.  
_Weak. You're so fucking WEAK_. _Schmuck._

There's only one smoke left. Numbers takes it out of the box, rolls the cigarette between his fingers, lost in thought but eventually puts it between his lips and lights it.  
When things were stressful at work over the last weeks, all he had to do was call Matt and blow off some steam in the bedroom. Sometimes imagined it was Cassidy's tight little ass he ploughed.  
That is no longer an option. If Matt was smart, he would be as far away from this place as possible. If he wasn't, well, he'd turn up in a dark alley with a needle in his arm soon enough.  
_Fuck_. _What a waste.  
_ The thought is depressing enough to merit another long draw of Vodka.

He stubs out the cigarette and grabs the bottle, shakes it so the clear liquid splashes around inside. Only a few tiny swigs left. He really shouldn't but _Whatever_.  
Numbers downs the last remnant of liquor and decides it's time to go to bed before he comes up with another of his great ideas. Go after the kid or some such shit. Wreck his life a little more.

The bedroom reeks of Cassidy. _And of defeat_. For a week he hasn't had the heart to change the sheets. Or is it only his imagination that’s playing tricks on him? Maybe it smells like it always did in here. _Right?_ And he’s merely fantasizing about it.  
A muffled laugh emerges from Numbers's throat. _Pathetic_.  
He opens the window wide and then strips the bed. His hands are clumsy from the alcohol but he remains adamant. Pillow cases, sheets, every piece of fabric that can be put in the washer has to come off.  
When the linen is piled up on the floor, he kicks at the heap wildly, tramples it under his feet and almost loses balance and falls on his ass.  
Too bad you can't shoot the fucking bedsheets. They're already dead. Just like him, huh. Dead inside. Funny thought. Numbers starts giggling. Well, the neighbors would probably complain about the noise if he shot himself at 3 in the morning. _Too bad, too bad.  
_ This shit needs to be gone before he can even think of sleep tonight so he gathers it all up in his arms and carries it to the bathroom to dump it right into the washing machine. _Out of sight out of mind, right? Now back to bed._

The fresh air hits him like a freight train. The room starts spinning and he staggers over to the window and closes it.  
On the floor is the soiled shirt he pried off Cassidy a week ago.  
Where does that come from? Maybe tangled up in one of the spare sheets that were on the bed?  
A shiver runs through him at the thought. Perfectly nauseating. Usually, he keeps his room neat and tidy. But the last few days he simply got drunk and fell into bed, burying his face in the pillow Cassidy had used.  
Numbers picks up the shirt between two fingers and inspects it. _Gross_.  
It’s the only thing he has left of the kid though.

_Oh come on Numbers, this is disgusting._

Eventually, he clutches the soiled piece of fabric, presses it against his chest.  
He can’t tell anymore whether the alcohol is working in his favor or against it when he falls into bed, Cassidy’s shirt tucked away under his pillow.

Tomorrow. He can put clean sheets on and get rid of it tomorrow.


	36. Chapter 36

**Early December 1990**

 

In a motel in the middle of nowhere he lies on his back and stares at the cracks in the plaster ceiling, traces them with his eyes like fingers following paths on an unknown map.  
Somewhere on this map there's Numbers, glad that he got rid of him. Close by is his sister, he imagines, upset and relieved in equal measure. All of them are free from a burden they didn't ask for. When he thinks of Alex, though, a lump forms in his throat. A fist clenches in his stomach.

Cassidy rolls over and grabs the crumpled piece of paper from the nightstand, reads it over for the 5th time. An address in Texas and a name are on it, nothing more.

Setting out in the car a few weeks ago, he didn't have a clue where to go but soon realized he was driving back towards Minot. It was stupid, yet deep down he suspected nobody would come and look for him anyway. His old home was the one place he still knew anybody, and he couldn't come up with a better idea.  
There was this guy who sold weed and other stuff, rode around on his motorbike all the time. Sometimes he came to the bike shop Cassidy had worked at. Eventually, Gavin had acquainted them when they’d bought a joint. And the dealer, knowing somehow Cassidy's siblings were involved with a syndicate, had more than once asked him to come to him if he ever needed a job.  
At this point, the only idea he could come up with was to go back and ask if the offer still stood. It was a long shot and a silly idea, but he didn't have anything to lose.

That's what he thought then.

 

Nolan is tattooed all over. Exotic animals crawl over his skin whenever he flexes a muscle. The antelopes and zebras on the shoulder blades contort into unnatural movements as he stands with his back to Cassidy and tiptoes to grab the jade-green metal box on the top shelf.

“You want some?” He offers the box to him and grins, revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth.

_No_ , Cassidy mouths while his eyes trace a school of fish following a thick treasure trail down into the other man’s shorts.

A frown plays over Nolan’s face and he pops a pill.  
“Look,” he rummages in the heap of small plastic bags, each containing a different sort of drug, “this'll be a rough ride once I get goin'. Take some.”  
  
He pulls out a sachet imprinted with the stylized letter ‘S’ that is filled with a white powder and offers it to Cassidy.  
“Trust me. I want you to enjoy this.”

_Shit_.  
Maybe Nolan is right. Maybe he needs something to ease up. Maybe he better not remember too much of this later-on. Drugs do that kind of thing, right? Blur and erase memories?

Cassidy’s hand shakes. He has never tried - whatever it is - before, only smoked a joint with Gavin now and then.  
He takes the sachet from the other man nevertheless.

Nolan nods, a few strands of shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes.  
“Here,” he hands over a small plastic tube. “Put it on the table. Sniff it. No nose blowing after.”

Cassidy’s heart sinks, his movements are erratic and clumsy as he fumbles with the bag. Eventually, he manages to get the powder out on the glass top.  
He hesitates but sets the tube to his nose and sniffs.  
_Oh fuck._  
Sharp, searing pain runs up through his sinuses. White heat stabs him and burns his throat as it comes down once more.  
A growl spills over his lips, and he grabs the edge of the table until the worst has subsided.

Eyes teared up, Cassidy looks back at Nolan.

“Good boy.”

And without further warning, the other man is upon him, grabs him by the hair so as to bring his face down and hungrily shoves a tongue into his mouth.  
Nolan tastes sour, of ash and tobacco, remnants of alcohol, too.  
Feebly, Cassid struggles for air, torn between disgust and the knowledge that this is the best offer he’ll get.  
For a guy a good six inches smaller, Nolan is surprisingly strong. He slams Cassidy against the wall and buries his face in the crevice of his neck.  
All he can do is hold still, desperately trying not to fight Nolan off as he bites and kisses his way from neck to collarbone and further down, licking the sweat of fear off Cassidy’s chest.  
Hot lips trace the fluff down his belly while eager hands claw at his ass and pull down the boxer briefs.  
What if it were Numbers doing this to him, not this nasty piece of trash. What if it were Numbers’s breath on his crotch. Numbers’s tongue licking along his hardening cock.

After a few minutes the effect of the drug seeps into the experience, blurs the line between wish and reality until Nolan is no longer a person at all, only a body, a physical stand-in.  
A surge of energy, adrenalin floods his synapses, and he grabs Nolan/Numbers’s hair, moans loudly as the other teases the tip of his dick.  
_Shit, shit, shit, this won’t do at all._ He can’t hold still like this. No.  
Cassidy pulls at the other’s hair hard and forces him up again.

He runs his hands over Nolan's chest and shoulders, takes a step towards him to shove him in the direction of the bed. _Dammit, move.  
_ Sweat breaks on his brow and his heart pounds like mad in his chest.

A smile that will come back to him in his nightmares spreads over Nolan's face. The older man staggers back gesturing with his left hand for Cassidy to have a go at him. Come.

He takes the bait and charges forward. Electricity runs through every fiber of his body; his skin burns.

Together, they end up on the bed, a heap of tangled limbs. Cassidy buries his teeth in Nolan's shoulder almost breaking the skin on a watercolor thylacine.  
A struggle, a brawl for superiority, ensues but soon he's too horny, too pumped up to care. Anything to get fucked, he'd do anything.  
He remembers Nolan flip him over on his belly. He remembers hands spreading his ass cheeks.  
His legs quiver in anticipation. Face buried in the pillow, the smell of stale cigarettes invades his nose.  
Everything after that seems far-removed as if somebody else experienced it. The memory, however, is sharp as knives, clear-cut. Memory loss is not a side effect of whatever he took.

They went at it for hours. As long as the drug had him racing, as long as Nolan wanted him to. Made him.

 

At some point, covered in cum, sweat and hickies, he falls asleep in Nolan’s bed - only to wake up sick and confused.  
He staggers to the bathroom, feet threatening to slip out under him and vomits in the toilet bowl. There’s nothing but spit and bile coming up but the retching reflex won’t stop. Perhaps he’s going to die right here. He’ll cough up his heart, liver and stomach and die in a puddle of blood in this sick asshole’s apartment.

The noises he makes must have been loud enough to wake up Nolan because after an eternity of agony, a cool hand is placed on his back. Cassidy winces, not having noticed the other man in the room.

A soft kiss on the neck, and then a hand tilts up his chin.

“You’ll be okay.”

Nolan brushes wet strands of hair out of Cassidy’s face, his hand no longer rough, tearing at his flesh but tender, loving.

He isn’t sure he understands this sudden change.

“C’mon.” Rotten teeth, bad breath.

Nolan helps him to his feet and guides him over to the sink. Dipping a washcloth in warm soapy water, he cleans Cassidy up, rubs down his back and chest, washes out the sticky patches in his pubic hair. He dries him off with a towel and hands him a fresh pair of boxers.

“Here. Back to bed. Sleep. I’ll be around soon.”

Still not sure what is going on, Cassidy does as he is told. He is exhausted and scared by what went down last night but strangely thankful for he knows not exactly what, too, and so crawls back under the covers.

 

He has lost all sense of time transitioning between light sleep and dull wakefulness when Nolan comes back to bed and lies down beside him.  
The older man rolls over, propped up on his elbows. After uneasy moments of being stared at, Cassidy turns his head and faces the other.

“You don’ talk much, pretty boy.” Nolan smacks his lips.

“ _\- You don’t even speak my language_.” He retorts, hands fumbling.

When Nolan smiles, he has these cute dimples. The sun plays over his face, colors his blond eyelashes golden and almost makes him look beautiful.  
“Touché.”

Cassidy flinches as the other reaches out with his free hand to brush a finger over the sewed up wound on his face.

“Where d’you get this? Looks like you could use someone to take care of it.”

“No.” He turns his head away from Nolan but the other doesn’t let go, hand tilting Cassidy’s face back.

“Who’s gonna pull the stitches? Mhm? Lemme do that for you. How fresh?” A wide smile, predatory, flickers up, vanishes.

In reply he holds up three fingers.

“Three days. Naw, gotta wait a little longer. Put some antiseptic on it, looks a bit inflamed at the edges.”

Nolan is close again, hovering over him.  
“You just lemme take care of you for a while pretty boy. I’ll be good to you.”

The cooing effect of his words is lost on Cassidy, but he still manages to strike a chord somewhere. _Take care of me._  
Deep down Cassidy wants nothing more than for someone to make it all go away. Take over responsibility.  
Forget Hammer. Forget what he’s done. That he’s a murderer. Forget Alex and Tim and Dovetail, too. Above all, forget about Numbers. Let somebody else be in charge for a while.  
And he reasons with himself. It's all very well to run away but what next? The money he has is too much to die but not nearly enough to live for long, let alone find a decent permanent place to stay. He’s still underage, his only identification a driver's license that proves it.

 

 

Now, alone in the bedroom, Cassidy realizes it was the false promise of commitment that truly tricked him into staying as long as he did.  
How could he have been so stupid. Escape from one bad place to ensnare himself in another?  
At least it didn't take him long to have his epiphany this time.

Nolan is a collector. He likes to take in stray boys like other people take in dogs. That's not what gets him off though.

 

 

In the nightstand are polaroids of boys. It dawns on Cassidy what they are, when he identifies himself in one of them. The pictures are arranged in complimentary stories of abuse/hurt and recuperation/affection.  
Some of the shots he remembers. Nolan took them during sex. Others he didn't even know existed because in the picture he's asleep.  
Sure, must be easy to take a photo of a passed out deaf kid. Perfect prey.  
_Take care of me._

He's been here for more than two weeks, knows deep down that the drugs got harder and the fucking more violent each time. And he has the bruises and bite marks to show for it as well. Yet, the photos, a succession crass poses and contrasts, make it all so much more explicit.

When he comes to a shot taken two days ago, he stops.  
Nolan holding him down on the bed. Nolan whipping him with a belt.  
Even the drugs didn't fully do the trick for him then. He did not enjoy this. Thinking about it makes him sick. The kind of sickness that burns through the stomach, the one that accompanies humiliation.  
Quickly, he puts the picture back and takes up another.  
That one shows Nolan take out the stitches. _Numbers_. That was different. _Right?_ Every touch had always felt like it was infused with passion, a craving for proximity then. It was different. Had to be different. Numbers was not an abuser. Was he?  
This, by constrast - this was nothing more but a cruel, carefully studied ritual with exchangeable bodies, exchangeable faces. What mattered to Nolan was how scared and desperate he was and how often it was possible to break and fix him. Everything else was irrelevant.

Bile rises in his throat as Cassidy goes through the other photos. Boys younger than him, and then- Gavin.  
There’s no date on the shots but judging by the summer clothes Gavin wears, he reckons they're probably about 4-5 months old.  
He hasn't left the house since he's arrived in Minot. Apart from the fact that somebody might come look for him, one of the main reasons is that he’s scared as hell to accidentally meet Gavin. And now this is how he has to see him?

His features harden. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed together he takes the photos showing himself out of the collection.  
For a split second Cassidy revels in the fantasy to smash in Nolan's face when he comes back from his errand. No, he won’t be defeated that easily. He didn't get out of Fargo to be brought down a few weeks later in fucking Minot.

Most polaroids go in the stove in the kitchen. He only keeps the ones that show him. A reminder.  
There’s a woosh noise and the photos of Nolan’s boys crumple and burn.

This is his chance. While his “caretaker” is gone, he packs up to leave.

A quick check reveals that Nolan didn’t even bother to take Cassidy's car keys away. And why would he? He seemed to have perfected this little game. Yes, he had even given Cassidy the paper with the contact of the bike shop on it after the first night, just as he had promised beforehand. A deal was a deal.

Only a few minutes later he set off in Dovetail’s car again, headed out of state.

 

Cassidy's hand closes around the paper, presses it into a little ball. A shiver runs down his spine and his body trembles at the memories.  
God, he has to take another shower right now.

 


	37. Interlude 6

**March 1991**

 

Blood trickles out of the wound between the eyes, runs over the nose, down a cheek and stains the tattoo of a tasmanian devil on the man’s neck.

He throws the photos right across the dead body on the bed. A deck of cards, a game he has lost. It’s a last move he’s been driven to by the cunning of a boy.  
Carefully, he empties out the gas canister over the arrangement on the sheets. The fluid seeps into the fabric, stains the hateful polaroids, soakes clothes and hair until everything is covered.  
He places the can at the foot of the bed and steps to the door surveying the artistry of his last big act of foolishness.

Numbers smiles as he flicks the burning match into the room.  
One sick bastard less in Minot, North Dakota.


	38. Chapter 38

**4 Years Later - Febuary 1995**

 

 

The diner is nearly empty. He sits at a formica table by the window, shovelling food into his mouth and only stops to take a sip of coffee from time to time. Their stupid bikes round the corner, howling as they close in on the parking lot. The whole circus, five or six guys in leather attire, biker vests, stops right in front of the plate glass window.  
Now the doorbell jingles and they enter single file with wide swaggering steps, boots stomping on the tiled floor.  
Weary, he lifts his eyes from the half-empty plate to take a closer look. Nothing much but a gang of generic biker dudes.  
Except for the last one... who's not only taller than the rest but also differs in attire. The guy squares his shoulders to adjust a ridiculous brown leather fringe jacket that rustles and swishes as he passes by. A blue shirt, jeans instead of leather pants, cowboy boots instead of the heavier biker model complete the outfit.  
What's this shit, a fashion homage to Midnight Cowboy?

He doesn't make the connection right away. Only when his eyes travel back to the stranger's face, the blond reddish curls and mutton chops, the broad nose, deep green eyes fastened on the man walking in front of him, an alarm bell starts ringing in his mind.

The bikers settle down in a booth at the back of the room and are out of sight.  
  
Holding the fork in mid-air he wonders whether the other recognized him as well.

A blink of the eyes and then Numbers resumes eating. It's a cruel world and good food at a roadside café is scarce.  
Maybe he should leave and pretend this blip in time never happened. Forget about the queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach, too.  
Instead, he orders a coffee refill and a piece of cherry pie after he's done with the toast and fried eggs with bacon.

_Just my kinda bad luck._

He tries to focus on his meal but suddenly everything tastes stale. It's hard to ignore when the kid who fucked up your game and messed with your good judgement walks in on you unexpectedly.  
Deep inside, Numbers knows he shouldn't be bothered. It was over and done with four years ago. _It wasn't even a thing for chrissake.  
_ Two opposite impulses are at war. Get up and leave or sit and wait?

When he's almost finished with the third refill, there's a rustle behind him from the booth where the bikers are sitting. They're getting up to leave he suspects.  
_Great_. It's too late now. He definitely has to wait and watch them pass by.

The gang leaves in the same order it came in.  
But before the cowboy is out the door, he pats the guy in front of him on the shoulder and signs something in ASL.  
Numbers can only see the answer because Cassidy has his back turned towards him.  
A nod of the head, a fist going through the slight knocking motion of an - _Ok_. - _See you later Wrench._

Then the kid towers over him in the midday sun and throws an overly dramatic shadow across the table.  
Numbers holds the coffee cup in both hands with a firm grip, eyes fastened on the dark liquid inside.  
Not a sound comes over Cassidy's lips. Instead, the younger man drums his fingers on the tabletop. _Clack, clack, clack._  
A sigh and he looks up, squinting, then drinks the last drop of coffee and pushes the cup away.  


The expression on Number's face is hard to read. Bored? Scared? Or simply annoyed. Cassidy isn't sure but it's probably option number three. The only thing he's certain about is that it's him alright.  
He feels, he still has the advantage over the other this very moment. He's no stranger here. And the men whose bikes roar in the distance are his family.  
In this place, he's a presence and Numbers is not.

_\- I honestly didn't think I'd ever see you again._

He crosses his arms and waits but there's no answer.

_\- You look older with that dead animal in your face, though._

_\- At least no poor cow had to die for my beard unlike for that fringed monstrosity you're wearing, cowboy_.  
Numbers's hands are as nimble and fast as he remembers them.

_\- You're still a sassy bitch_ , _too, huh?_

_\- And you're still green behind the ears. Do you want anything in particular or did you merely stay behind to annoy the shit out of me?_

This was a hell of a stupid idea, he realizes, but can't stop prodding Numbers either.  
_\- You don't have anything to say to me at all?_ Cassidy raises and eyebrow.

_\- Nothing in particular. No. Except maybe 'Fuck off.' or 'Get lost.' Stop bothering me, kiddo._

_\- YOU telling me to fuck off?_

Numbers nods. _\- Seems like it._

_\- You're taking your mouth pretty full. I'd be careful if I were you._

_\- Why? Are you going to call back your friends to beat me up when school is over?_ A laugh.

_\- I don't think I need help for that, old man._ Cassidy cocks his head and seizes the other up.

_\- Maybe you don't – who gives a fuck?_

Slowly, Numbers takes out his wallet and puts a twenty dollar bill on the table.  
Then he gets up, puts on the striped scarf that was hanging over a chair, shakes out his coat and shrugs into it.

Meanwhile, Cassidy stares on, stomach churning. Silent rage wells up deep inside him. The fucking asshole. How dare he walk out on him.

_\- Nice talking to you. See you around._ The older man exposes his teeth in a ghastly fake smile and is out the door.

But Cassidy isn't done with him yet. Who does the conceited bastard think he is? Disrespecting him like that? Like he's still 16 and in need of a friend, a boy who doesn’t know better.

 

Numbers is aware that the gears have shifted into emergency mode. Agitated on the inside but still cold and composed on the outside, he's sure that he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't leave. He needs to shake the kid off before the surface cracks.

 But as he crosses the parking lot, he hears the stride of boots on the asphalt and the song of the leather fringes behind him.  
_Please no.  
_ He knows full well that if he doesn't want to lose face, he must keep his pace. _Don't go any faster and don't look back._

The space in front of the diner is nearly empty but for a few cars and some larger vehicles whose drivers are resting.

Numbers has almost made it to his ride, parked right next to a truck, when two hands push him forward and he stumbles.  
_Too late.  
_ He turns around, furious, but is immediately cut short.

_\- LOOK at me when I'm talking you! You're not doing this to me!_

_\- Don't you fucking touch me! You have a death wish? Don't think I wouldn’t gut you like a fish!_

_\- You're not walking away from me like this!  
_ Cassidy has come perilously close, hands cutting the air.

_\- WHAT is wrong with you?!_ Numbers shoves him away. _\- I owe you NOTHING. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!_

And then the younger man snaps.  
  
Cassidy grabs him by the collar before he even knows what's happening and drags him into the small space between the vehicles.  
He is slammed into the metal of the truck and the air forced out of his lungs.

“You pretended to like me, to genuinely CARE. And you fucked me and shoved me away. You replaced me with a hooker. Because of your precious boundaries, you piece of shit.” The words are whispered in his ear, warm breath is moist on his skin.  
“You're not walking out on me today.”

There's a knife in his pocket he could reach for, but instead Numbers kicks and lashes out as hard as he is able to manage.

With a yelp Cassidy lets go of him and Numbers pushes his adversary full on the chest so that he has to take a step back.

His hands freed, Numbers signs wildly, lashing out words in an attempt to keep the fight verbal.

_\- I shoved you away? You RAN away. I risked everything for you with the syndicate. And you ran. You're a coward and a fucking murderer. Just like me. Never forget that._

Cassidy's face goes from red to white within seconds. He charges forward and slams into Numbers whose back hits metal in turn again.

Now Cassidy's arm is right below his throat. A little higher, a little more pressure and he'll choke him.  
Panic rises, he should have used the fucking knife. Four years, this is not the kid he used to know.

“I was just a boy. And you a grown man.” Cassidy hisses. The bitterness in his voice cuts right through to him. “You meant everything to me.”

Numbers doesn't answer. Doesn't struggle. Looking back, he realizes he doesn't want to fight about this. Because Cassidy is right.  
He was the grown-up and he fucked it up. He knew it then and he knows it still.  
So four years later it's time to own up. Back against the wall there is nowhere to escape to, anyway.  
Suddenly it seems very stupid and naive that he ever thought this could simply go away.  
_Wishful thinking._

“You're right,” he mouths staring directly into those eyes.

Cassidy flares his nostrils. Is this what he wanted to hear? Why he walked up to Numbers in the first place? To have him admit that it was all his fault years ago?  
Carefully, he loosens the pressure of his lower arm on Numbers's throat and takes a step back.  
He coughs and spits on the asphalt, missing the other's black leather shoes only by the slightest of margins.

 

Numbers looks down on the fleck of saliva on the ground until he hears the other's bike stutter and come to life.  
Taking a few deep breaths, he brushes the creases out of his jacket and gets into the car.

_Focus on something else, idiot. Focus on something else._

He has to find a motel, some cheap place where people don't ask questions. After all, he has a job to take care of and it will require some preparation.  
Hopefully, he can keep his stay here down to a week or two.


	39. Chapter 39

Through the flimsy walls the sound of traffic on I75 invades the room. From time to time lights illuminate the rims of the closed curtain in the window. A car pulls into the lot, and as the driver misjudges the speed of his vehicle, gravel crunches and spits against the massive flower pots.  
Numbers has been awake in bed for almost an hour, listening to the sounds around him, watching the rays of light dance; thinking.  
He tosses about now, tired and yet unable to sleep. What he needs, he thinks, is a fuck with a complete stranger. Go to a random bar and pick someone up like he does from time to time. Or, if that fails, pay a hooker. It doesn’t really matter. Just get himself a little mind-numbing piece of ass so he’ll be able to sleep.  
It’s not too late, he reckons. After his encounter with Cassidy, an exhausting job related meeting in the late afternoon and a series of phone calls, he felt so worn out that he went to bed. Watched an old movie on the crappy motel TV the size of a toaster oven, then turned out the lights – and was wide awake again.  
In truth, he is afraid he’ll meet Cassidy if he so much as ventures to stick his nose out the door. It’s perfectly stupid. How many bars are there in Richmond, Berea, in-between? Not likely he’ll ever see the kid again even if he stays here for two whole damn weeks.  
There’s a sorry excuse for a pub right next door, attached to the motel complex. He certainly won’t meet any locals there.  
Numbers contemplates the option but is unable to move, let alone act on his needs.  
In the end, he fishes for the remote on the bedside table and switches on the TV once more.

After _The Muppet Show_ , a few episodes of _Little House on the Prairie_ and an embarrassing amount of _Riptide_ , he realizes the sun has come up outside and he hasn’t slept at all.  
A glance at his watch reveals it’s 6:30.  
He has to look presentable in roughly an hour and make the 20 minute drive to Richmond.

The goons out here are fucking morons.  
He was surprised they were able to form coherent sentences at all. Couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell him shit about the situation yesterday. Said they didn’t have the traitor. Didn’t know where he was.  
He might still have been confused because of Cassidy. But he wasn’t an idiot. Their bullshit stank to the high heavens.  
So he had to phone Jergen who threatened the locals enough to step up their game and hand over the guy this morning.  
At first it had seemed like an easy hit. Always a bit difficult when drug trafficking and rivaling groups were involved but nothing he didn’t know how to manage.  
Kentucky was full of weed farmers, especially in the Daniel Boone forest, but a majority of the product was exported to the bigger cities and out of state. Fargo had a cut in the share somewhere and one of their local accountants had arranged to redirect a part of that cut.  
Punishment for that sort of foolery was usually fast and quick and involved the removal of the skimming party. Or their head.  
But, as Jergen had told him later, the matter seemed to have emerged out of a serious family feud that needed unraveling before it was clear who to take out, or rather, how many. Maybe Fargo would send reinforcements, too.

 

Numbers groans. He hates scout work. Isn’t patient enough for it on his own and sleep deprivation doesn’t help. For all he cares in his current mood, he is perfectly willing to shoot every motherfucking last one of the retarded idiots he’s met yesterday afternoon only to get out of this place.  
Unfortunately, Jergen says the boss wants this “sorted out” and “rectified.” _Rectified my ass.  
_ He swings his legs out of bed and his feet recoil as they touch a sticky patch in the carpet _. For fuck’s sake._ This day is the worst already.

 

\---

 

The man at the other side of the desk smells of musk and sour milk.  
Numbers is sure this one hasn’t taken a bath since Bush had to hand over presidency.  
He sits down in the chair offered and folds his hands.

“I have been told last night that one of your accountants values family ties over business contracts,” he offers.  
“Might have had an idea that the need for loyalty comes with matching last names only.”

“Is that what Fargo thinks?” A single bead of sweat runs down the thug boss’s forehead.

“No. That is what Fargo knows.” Numbers exposes white teeth and leans in closer. The oncoming smell almost makes him choke but he keeps a serious face.

“Yes. Yes of course. He is not a Reed if that’s what you mean.”

“Your weed patch security. Which family?”

“Curtis.”

“And the man in question?”

“Him too.”

In the reflection of the picture frame glass Numbers notices one of the two armed guys in the back twitch. _Shit._ So they already made it in here. _Too bad._ Should have noticed yesterday but his head wasn't in it. Off in the clouds with fucking Cassidy.  
He needs a different strategy. _Improvise._

The fat guy looks about nervously. “Our families have been working together for a long time.”

“Oh, I know that.”  
Numbers smiles, his tone friendlier now.  
“You understand that I have to ask these questions. It’s what my boss expects me to do.”

“Yes of course.”

The guard behind him shifts weight uneasily from one foot to another, his leather clothes creaking.  
Numbers throws another glimpse in the glass mirror, satisfied that the he hasn’t drawn a weapon yet.

“Well, then you understand, that I have to talk to your bookie as well, don’t you? I think my business associate from Fargo has made that clear?”  
He wonders how far he can push the guard until he ends up with a bullet in his head. Not much further probably.  
“Disposing of him is supposed to make a nice showcase. That's the main reason. It's nothing personal.”

“Yes. But…”

Numbers raises an eyebrow, “But?”

“Well, reason… You see… The reason we told you we couldn’t deliver...”

_God is that moron ever going to finish his sentence._

“We already punished him.”

“So he’s dead?”

“No. Not dead, no. Just- he ain’t gonna talk anymore.”

“Listen.” Numbers rests his hands on the desk.  
“Personally, I don’t care about any of this. But Mr. Tripoli does. And what he wants primarily is for me to enact swift vengeance on the man. Make sure he is the only one.”  
“So here is a hint from me to you. Give me the guy. Add a few dollars on top and I’ll tell Fargo he confessed, crying and sobbing like a baby. Doing it for his sick grandmother or some bullshit like that. No need for real talk. Just help me out a little so I can help you.”

The boss doesn’t answer. He simply sits there, sweating profusely out of every pore. Numbers can see the brain work behind the broad bald forehead, the brows knit in agitation.  
Then he nods to one of the guards.  
“Get him in here.” His voice is dry like parchment, the color drained from of his puffy face.

An almost inaudible sigh escapes fidgety guard and he leaves the room only to return a few minutes later with a cuffed man in his wake.

 

 

The pale scraggly figure isn't much of a talker, indeed, because a substantial part of his tongue is missing.  
Numbers isn't sure if the ineptitude of the locals verges towards the amusing or is just plain annoying. Either way, he feels a bit sorry for the poor guy. That's how it works here? One minute you're a happy weed accountant, the next your family needs a scapegoat and your tongue's cut out?  
Not that he hasn't thought about shutting up Jergen like that now and then himself, but at least he's not related to Aussie. _Lord have mercy._

Numbers signs a a few words at the man but gets only a blank stare. _Would have been too good to be true anyway._

And so the interview yields nothing surprising. Full confession. Took the money. Tinkered with the books to make the accounts balance out.  
Whenever Yes or No aren't good enough, the fat boss supplies the missing info.

“You had a reason for this?”

Nod.

“His family. Wife's sick, I've heard.”

Numbers can't abide interrogations like that. It renders the whole thing moot to have some proxy answer. But he has to keep pretenses up, so he sighs and moves on with the sham.  
When he's sure that he's made enough of a show, Numbers moves in close, scrutinizing the man's face.

“And this is exactly how it happened? Yes?”

Yet before the other has a chance to answer, Numbers whips out a knife and lazily draws it across the man's throat, leaving only the slightest of cuts.

“Think carefully before you answer. The truth and nothing but the truth?”

The guy's lips tremble and he starts crying, then nods frantically.

Who knows what body part they've threatened to cut off next if he doesn't cooperate. It's no fun at all to intimidate people like this. They're not so much afraid of him as of what comes when he's gone. _Nope._ _Boring_ _._

 

Finally, Numbers turns back to the boss.  
“Well, that was peculiar. Interrogating a guy with no tongue, huh?” He smiles politely.

The fat guy is at a loss of words again.

“Do you want me to get rid of him for you? I mean, that's what I was sent here for in the first place. Or – would you rather deal with the leftovers yourself?”

The boss gapes, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

“We'll finish what we started.” It's the voice of the guard at the door. Not the nervous one, the other. More dangerous, Numbers thinks. _You've played well until this very moment my friend._

“Fine by me. Fine by me.”

Numbers angles for something in his coat pocket and produces a calling card.

“This is my contact info. For 500 I'll tell them the little squirrel was unharmed and told me about his sick wifey and 3 children before I cut his throat and ditched him in a river.”

He sticks out his hand, presenting the card to the boss who, with trembling fingers, takes it from him.

“Yes, Yes. So we're good?”

Numbers merely nods.  
_The fuck we are._

 

\---

 

Back at the motel he phones Jergen. Tells him about the mess they have at their hands. Family trouble alright. Curtis versus Reed. Curtis obviously trying to ditch the latter and then ditch Fargo, too? He isn't sure yet but they're already in headquarters operating the boss like a puppet on a string. It's only a matter of time. Dumbest idea ever to present him with a scapegoat like that. Cut his tongue off so he couldn't spill the whole story. And the fuckers were nervous. There is definitely something going on.

Jergen agrees. He's had the Fargo people crunch the numbers for real once more. Never ever did one guy pull the strings behind this.  
What it means? Means Numbers has to stay. Lay low for a couple of days until he gets further instructions.  
The whole business will be weeded out. Ha, ha.  
They're going to find another party interested in running the show. He already has something in mind. Knows a guy in Berea.  
Wait for the call.

So Numbers waits.

 


	40. Chapter 40

He wipes his greasy hands on a rag and frowns.

_\- Boss wants to have you there. Seems important._ Shepard circles a fist over his chest. _\- Sorry._

But Wrench shrugs it off. - _I'll be there in a minute. Wash my hands. The bike can wait._

The soap smells of green apples; cold water runs through his fingers.  
He's not a fan of Sundays in particular, guys getting drunk in the early afternoon, playing pool all day. Can't catch half the jokes anyway, except for the lips he manages to read, except for the few puns Shep translates for him. So on the lazy days he's prone to sneak off into the garage. Somebody has to keep up the pretense of a legal shop, why not him. They appreciate it, too. It's nice to have people look at your work and nod. Come to you and ask for advice. Telling you what a whiz you are.  
He'd never admit it openly though.  
Wrench dries his hands and proceeds to change his shirt.  
When he turns around he catches Shep staring. Not for the first time either.

_\- Ready to go?_

He smiles. _\- Let's have this very important business talk._

 

They thread through the back room of the garage, a private bar, game and TV room. The den.  
A few guys sit at a table and drink beer. Another group crowds around the pool table.

_\- Colton is finally making good on his promise to kick some ass._

_\- Good thing I don't bet then._

Shep winks at him.  


They move past the raucous crowd and through another door that leads to a tiny back office.

Behind a makeshift desk sits Wade, their boss.

_\- Hey Wrench. “_ Sorry I had to call you away from the garage.” _Please sit._

There are two chairs, one for him and one for Shep who usually stays to translate the ASL to Wade.

_\- Yeah, no problem. Shep said you needed to talk? I hope I didn't do something stupid. Your bike still okay? I didn't mess up the boss's ride, did I?_

Wade laughs.

“What? Noooo. This ain't about bikes. You ever think of anything else?”

_\- Hardly._ Wrench grins back at him. 

“It's about business. The other kind.” The smile vanishes from Wade's face.

_\- A job for me?_

“Maybe. A few days ago I got a call. Business proposal. The guy to discuss the deal with 'll come over soon.”

_\- What am I supposed to do?_

“Shepard told me you might know the man.”

_\- Me?_ He glances at Shep, who averts his eyes, then looks back at Wade.

“My associate described to me what the man looks like and when I told Shep to bring him in as soon he arrives, he offered that you might know him.”  
“A lucky coincidence, really.”

_“- The stranger you talked to at the diner? On Monday?_ _I think that might be him._ ” Shepard scratches his head, embarrassed.

_\- No._ The word slips out before he can even think about what it all means.

“No?” Wade frowns, squinting at him over the rim of his glasses.

_\- If the man is the same, I don't think you should do business with him.  
_ He can barely keep his hands from shaking as he forms the answer. Knowing that Shep sees him like this doesn't help.

_This isn't real. It can't be. It must be somebody else they're talking about. Not Numbers._  
He's been trying to forget that sorry meeting ever since Monday came and went.  
The sudden anger in his guts, the rage at Numbers being so cold and the realization that it was probably simply his way of dealing with whatever had happened to the both of them four years ago had made him sick.

Now Wade is staring at him, brown eyes fixed on his.  
“Why?”

_\- He's dangerous. The people he works for even more so. Crime syndicate? Something big. If you rub them the wrong way, it will get us all killed.  
_ Wrench is aware how ridiculous the answer is. The bike shop is a front business. And he's sure he's run more than one or two illegal errands for Wade in the past months.

“That's exactly why I want to have someone in the room with me who knows the guy.”

_Keep it together. Might be somebody else entirely. Numbers is probably not the only man in Richmond with a beard and an expensive suit._

Wrench takes a deep breath. _\- I understand._

“So are you up to that kid? Cause I can't have security with shaking hands in here.”

_\- Yes, of course Wade. I'll have a look and see if it's really him.  
_ His eyes find Shepard again who signs an _– I'm sorry._ back.

Wade seems pleased enough though, nodding at him.

_\- When is the meeting?_

“In about ten to fifteen minutes. They phoned only half an hour ago. I didn't think there'd be a problem.”

_\- No problem at all._

“Shep,” Wade grabs a black folder and opens it up, “Wait for our guy outside and bring him in here in about 15 minutes. If he's early, give him a drink.”

The boss leafs through papers and turns the folder around so Wrench can read the figures, then grabs a pencil and a notepad.

“I'm gonna use what time we have left to explain the job offer. Pen and paper have to make due if there are questions.”

Shepard nods and gets up. As he passes Wrench, his fingers graze the other's shoulder lightly.

 

\---

 

_What a dung heap._ Numbers seizes up the place. It's a bike shop alright, quite small. The air is stuffy with the smell of gasoline and oil. Tools are scattered on the floor of the garage, a half assembled bike next to them. Nobody is presently working in here. This place needs a good scrub.

The man who greets him might be his own age. He's tall, lean and the curly black hair on his scalp is cropped short. Numbers has seen him in the diner before. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._  
The stranger holds out a hand with long delicate fingers and Numbers feels pressed to to take it.  
Firm grip, and a smile on his face, completely at ease, the guy is the opposite of the retards he has met before.

“Name's Shepard.”

“Numbers. From Fargo,” he coughs through gritted teeth.

Shepard nods.  
“Boss will be ready for you in about 10 minutes. Follow me.”

Walking in front of him, the man cuts an impressive figure. Numbers imagines him in suit and tie, trying to occupy his mind, pry his thoughts away from the dark forebodings.

The back room is filled with less encouraging material though. Exactly what he imagined when Jergen said he was going to meet bikers.

Well, what he imagined after coming down from the ceiling even then. First thing that sprung to his mind was Cassidy and those leather wearing thugs of course. Freaked him out. Took a lot not to shriek into the phone, tell Jergen to go fuck himself. He tried to calm himself down, thiniking there must be a hundred weird gangs out in this godforsaken state. And this was certainly not the one. Ha, fuck his bad luck.

He looks about, surveying the scene. Most people seem to be caught up in a pool game. There's a door with an exit sign overhead. _Good_. Aussie had promised he knew the boss from way back but better safe than sorry.  
He can't spot the fringed monstrosity Cassidy wore anywhere. _Even better._

It is only when Shepard turns around to ask him if he wants a drink and he starts a little that Numbers realizes how tense he is. _Relax. He's not here. Get a grip._

“Water with a squeeze of lemon in it. Thanks.”

Shepard walks around the bar, fixes Numbers a drink and grabs a bottle of beer for himself.

He takes the glass of sparkly water and turns around, his back towards the bar. People are still engaged in the pool game mostly. To be honest these guys don't look like they're the security Jergen wants. Disorderly, loud – and drunk, not a mix he personally favors.  
When Numbers faces Shepard again, the man grins.

“Got it right?”

He nods and takes another sip. _What the fuck is wrong with the guy._ The profuse friendliness irritates him.

Shep takes a glance at his watch. “I think we're good to go.”

 

\---

 

_A nightmare. This is a complete and absolute nightmare._  
He follows the man called Shepard into the boss's office and the first person he sees is Cassidy, sitting on a chair under the only window right from across the door.  
To the left is a desk that's actually just a table and behind that sits a man in his mid forties with a flat face and a broad, fleshy nose. His beard is streaked with silver and he looks at Numbers from over round, metal framed glasses as he gets up and extends a hand.

“Hello. I'm Wade. Please sit.”

Out of the corner of his eye Numbers sees Shepard and Cassidy sign to each other but all he manages to make out is _– You were right. -Sorry man.  
_

“Pleased to meet you.” Numbers shakes the older man's hand. _What's with all the hand shaking?_ Then he sits down facing him, acutely aware of Cassidy's deadly side stare. _For Chrissake. It were almost funny if it weren't so fucking annoying. Keep calm Numbers, if worse comes to worst you can always shoot yourself in the head. Or run and have Jergen send somebody to do it._

“You've met my number one, Shepard.”  
“And I think you're familiar with one of my boys.”

Wade makes a wide gesture pointing towards Wrench who sits motionless, jaw clenched tight but now lifts a hand to tap an invisible hat.

Numbers puts on his sweetest smile, “- _Yes, we've met in Fargo. I knew his late brother._ ”

“Ah, I see.” The biker boss nods.  
“I think you can leave us to business now, Shep.”

Oh great, he'll be alone in a room with an important asset to be acquired and a guy who's probably already planned out a 1000 ways to kill him since Monday.  
_Sure. Why not. Hit me with all you've got._

“- _I assume Mr. Jergen has already explained our predicament to you - as well as our offer._ ”  
The only option he's left with is to conduct business as usual in order to avoid any further questions concerning their acquaintance.  
It takes all his will power to do it.  
One after the other, he conjures up all he grisly things Jergen will have inflicted upon him if he messes up a sure bet. In case this goes south, Tripoli will be angry with Aussie and the little squirrel will no doubt take it out on him.

“Yes, he did. Was a bit vague still. I hope you can help us out with that. Don't like no surprises.”

_If it isn't you being surprised, they're okay though, huh?_ But Numbers keeps his thoughts to himself.

He pulls a thick envelope out of his coat pocket.  
“- _It's all in here. Shall we go over the details?_ ”

Numbers guides the boss through the proposal. It's pretty simple, the old structures and assets need to be removed – clean and efficient are the buzzwords. Fargo will send over a few interim people, find out if there are re-usable assets left, bookies and such. But it can only happen with sufficient security. The produce needs to be protected. And the interims will need contacts who know the area, the lay of the land and, above all, the social networks. People out here are peculiar and the guys farming weed in that forest more so. At least that's what they've heard? He wouldn't know personally.  
Payment will be in percentages of the money the operation makes.

While he explains the deal, he makes it a point to sign so Wrench will get everything that is said between him and Wade. The intent side stare on his hands makes him jumble the words despite his best effort though. Numbers is glad the boss doesn't notice. Doesn't seem to know ASL well enough.  
Whenever Wade talks, Cassidy hangs on his lips, giving Numbers a few seconds to collect himself. Yet, it's not nearly enough to keep the growing tension at bay. He needs to get this over with rather sooner than later. Go outside and hit a wall or something.

Lucky for him that the boss wants to take some time to contemplate the offer for a while. Would he be okay with giving him two days until a second meeting? To agree on mutual terms?  
Oh hell yeah, he'd be happy to postpone decisions as long as it means he'll get out of here immediately. He can fret about having to return later...

After another handshake, Numbers is sure to be off the hook.  
But then Wade nods “Wrench will guide you out.”  
_Of course he will._

 

The door closes behind them and as soon as they leave the den and step into the garage, Wrench explodes.

_\- You knew my LATE brother?_!

Numbers shrugs.  
_\- What about that? I did know him. And he's dead.  
_

Wrench takes a deep breath, trying not to to lay hands him.

But Numbers is on a roll, all the frustration and anger built up in that office need to get out.  
  
_\- Do you make every older guy you fuck learn ASL for you?_  
_\- Just wondering if it has turned into a habit, you know. Is it pathological?_

_\- Asshole._ Wrench shakes his head in disbelief.  
_-Shep's got a deaf sister at Gallaudet if you must know. Some people have more reason to learn a language than a dick they can't keep in their pants._

That shuts Numbers up for a second.

_\- Why did you have to come here? I hate you._

_\- I know. Don't worry you're in good company, Mister WRENCH._

Numbers glares at him one last time and stomps out.


	41. Chapter 41

“I need to call in a favor. There’s no time for delay.”

A pause on the other end of the line.

“Letters, are you listening?” The voice is strained.  
Sometimes the woman drives him crazy, but she’s the only one he can trust with this. She owes him.

“Uh-hu.”

“I need you to go to my apartment and send me some files from the stash. The one I told you to burn in case of emergency.”

Another pause ensues, then, “Are you okay Numbers? You’re not in trouble, are you? Shit.”

 _Nosy as ever.  
_ “No – yes. I mean, I’m not in danger if that’s what you think. I NEED these files, though. Do you hear me? It's urgent.”

“Yeah, I’m not stupid. You’re calling in your special favor to have me send you over some of your bullshit. It’s just hard to listen to you while painting toenails, is all.”

There’s a deep sigh, “You’re referring to your own fucking toes, I hope. Don’t tell me there’s somebody with you while we're talking for Chrissake.”

Letters giggles. “No, I’m alone. For now.”

“Okay. So you'll do this for me. Yes?”

“Yes, dummy. Tell me what you'll need.” Her voice drops a notch as she reigns in the laughter.

“Right, right... So you get the box with the files from where I showed you. Get out the blue folder. The documents inside, they're in alphabetical order.”

“Of course they are...”

“I need two files. One is labeled ‘Choi’, the other ‘Larsson.’ There should be photos in them and some documents, personal info mostly. Nothing that should interest you.”

Glad he can't see her, Letters rolls her eyes at him. _No peeking._

“No peeking or shit. And don't you fucking talk to anybody about this. ESPECIALLY not to that office squirrel Jergen. Tell nobody. Shut your trap. Zip it - “

“Numbers. Stop rattling off synonyms. I got it the first time. Get the files, send them to you. Be discrete. The way you talk to me I'm starting to think you take me for a fucking amateur. We've been through this, yes? This patronizing tone of voice.”

“Yeah, sorry. I'm just really – sorry – I need these. Like yesterday.”

“I'll go over to your apartment right away and send the files to you, fastest option. Delivered to your doorstep if you please.”

Numbers gives her the address of the nearest post office and his motel as well.  
“Thanks Letters. Thank you.”  
“By the way, what's that scratching noise in the background?”

“Sharpening knives. You made me angry.”

“Okay. I'll be hearing from you.”  
He gives a hoarse laugh and hangs up.

 

 

~~~

 

 

She rummages through the folders in the box, shaking her head. Numbers is a freak. Why does he keep all this shit? He says it's leverage, a form of insurance, but some of the items simply look like junk to Letters. She takes out a ratty child's toy, some sort of stuffed animal, a bird? When she squeezes the thing, it makes a sudden chirping noise and she almost drops it. _Jeez!_  
Annoyed, she puts it back.  
Then there’s an antiquated looking small, oblong metal case with a Hebrew letter on it. She turns it over in her hands and finds that it holds a parchment with writing on it. Numbers had pointed out an object like this to her on a doorframe once. What was it called? Medusa? No. Mezuzah…

Ah, she has to stop doing this, snooping around. It's not wise to know too much. Nope.  
Letters looks for the blue folder and opens it.  
Here they are, ‘Choi’ and ‘Larsson.’  
She takes out the files and a closes the box again, puts it back under the floor boards and drapes the carpet over it.  
Yet, when she goes on to stuff the documents in her handbag, she hesitates.  
_Oh fuck it, whateve_ r. She's going to have a little peek anyway before sending this off by courier service tomorrow morning.

 

 


	42. Chapter 42

**April 25, 1995**

 

Cold sweat beaks on his brow as he looks at the watch for the third time. It's almost 7 pm.  
He's had a drink, although he swore to himself he would stay sober for this. _One to calm the fuck down goddamit_.  
The place itself is dreary enough for the meeting, he chose the bar next to his motel.  
_Impending doom hangs in the air for you Numbers.  
_ The half-light in the room is just right, it smells of chlorine, booze and sweat. The counter top is sticky.

If he's on time, Wrench will be here any minute.  
Why does he have to meet HIM? Why can't they send that other guy. Shepard? Are they playing a game? Whatever. It didn't seem feasible to ask to NOT meet Wrench. Definitely not an option.

The only thing that gives him a little reassurance is that he took the photos from the files he received this morning. Put them in his jacket before he left.  
As if on its own accord, Numbers's hand moves into his pocket to feel the paper.  
At least Letters was reliable.

 

When Wrench shows up a few minutes later, Numbers is already done with the second whiskey.  
The tall man makes his way through the room and halts right in front of him, arms crossed, staring down at him. Wrench doesn't offer a greeting. He simply watches.

_\- Sit down, please,_ is all that Numbers manages to fumble after a few awkward moments. He isn't sure if his hands shake because he's nervous or because of the drinks. He hasn't eaten anything but Scrunyuns for two days.

Wrench shakes his head. _\- No need to sit._

_\- Suit yourself. No need for a drink either?_

_\- No drink.  
\- Wade says we will take the job._

Numbers nods. _Good. Then this terrible farce might be over soon.  
\- I'll forward the good news to Fargo._

_\- We have a few additional requests, though._

A sigh escapes his lips. Here it is.  
_\- Of course... And what are these additional requests? Enlighten me._

Wrench produces a folded piece of paper from the fringe jacket and puts it on the counter.  
_\- See for yourself._

As long as he reads, he doesn't have to face Wrench. That's something, right? And look at this. Does Wrench have sweaty fingers, too? He studies the smeared fingerprint on the edge of the paper but then quickly resumes reading.  
The requests seem reasonable to him, a few minor changes in payment. A few security details were altered, but all in all it should be acceptable.

_\- Your boss is a smart man. I don't think there will be any objections but I have to check with headquarters of course._

_\- Sure, do what you have to. You can reach Wade at the garage when you have your answer._

And then Wrench turns to go.

_Don't let him leave!  
_ Quickly, Numbers reaches out and grabs the hem of Wrench's leather jacket, shaking the fringes.

The younger man turns around, fixing him with an angry stare.

_\- Wait.  
\- I have something for you._

Wrench doesn't answer.

_\- I thought you might want to see these.  
_ Numbers takes the photos out of his pocket and holds them out.

Reluctantly, Wrench reaches for them.  
His face instantly mellows when he realizes who's in the picture. He takes a deep breath, lets out the air noisily.  
_\- Where did you get these?!_

_\- Had them both covered and followed after you left of course. There's dates, too._

Wrench flips over the photos. The one that shows Alex in cap and gown says “Graduation, UCLA, 1994. Alexandra Larsson.” The second is a picture of a young man at a car park. It simply states “Timothy S. Choi, Matheson's Car Shop, Brainerd, Minnesota, July, 1993.”

For a long time Wrench stares at his lost friends, older now too, grown into better people than him for sure.  
But whatever had given way inside of him, presently hardens once more. He puts the photos in his jacket, nods at Numbers and leaves without saying anything more.

 

“Sure. Feel free to take them,” Numbers mutters under his breath.


	43. Chapter 43

He can't go back to the apartment. It's warm and cozy but it makes him feel trapped. His name is on the door, a fake name. Still, he's known. There are people all around him in the other tiny homes, bees in a hive.  
He needs to think and there is only one place safe and lonely enough for that, so he visits his old lair at the outskirts of town, the place he discovered when he first came here. Lived in the abandoned church near the woods for a time even when he was already working for Wade.  
Now and then he returns to see if everything is in order with the emergency hideout. He hasn't been here in a while.  
There was no need. But of course stupid Numbers comes along and changes the rules of the game.

Once inside, the moldy scent of rotten wood invades his nose. He shines the flashlight into the only room. The place is undisturbed, nobody has been here.  
Satisfied that everything is as it should be, Wrench flops down on an old mattress he'd dragged into the one corner of he building that still had an intact roof. It had taken him some time to figure out where sleep was possible without being rained on.  
There's food in a box hidden under a heap of plywood, he isn't hungry, though.  
It's only 8:30, yet the cold already creeps into his bones.  
He wraps himself a little tighter in the jacket and stares into the darkness of the rafters above.  
Why, in this vast country with millions of people in it, does he have to meet the one person he is so desperately trying to forget? Is it part of his punishment? Or bad karma. He doesn't believe in God. Karma, however, maybe that is something? Can't be good to have murdered one's brother and joined a gang of bikers. Lying, stealing, hurting people for money, his account is probably quite unbalanced, Titanic-like, tipped, and inevitably drowning him.  
He can't help but take out the photos once more and have another look. Shining the flashlight on them he tries to take in every detail.  
Alex is beautiful. She looks happy. And he is glad she managed to emerge out of this rather unharmed.  
_Bullshit_. It is presumptuous to judge the harm he's done to his best friend by a shitty graduation photo. Who knows how many hours she's sat with some counselor or psychiatrist because of him? His heart sinks.  
What about Tim? The photo is nothing but proof that he probably still exists and has work. That is it. Does he know? Did Alex tell him about the night he'd accidentally killed Hammer.  
_Certainly deserved it, though._  
How bad does killing other bad people make you?  
He chuckles.  
Why should he care if he had become a bad person?

The world is a terrible place. The weak and merciful go down. At best, they simply get hurt and are abandoned.  
Maybe these months with Wade's boys have made him soft, too cozy and comfortable.  
What if they knew about his past, would they still be his family then?  
They're criminals alright but most of them aren't cold-blooded murderers.  
Nobody knows about Hammer.  
Not even Shep.  
_Numbers knows.  
_ Numbers knows everything about him.  
More than anybody else ever did.  
_Isn't that sick?_

He feels the anger rise inside once more. Why didn't Numbers like him? Not enough at any rate to take him away from that bad place he had been in?  
A love letter. A burger at a diner. A secret fuck. That wasn't help, was it?  
Or maybe it was all Numbers had been capable of, maybe it had been his way of showing he cared? _Still making up excuses for the asshole?_

In his head Wrench makes a list, as he's done ever so often, especially during the first weeks on the road. One tab is for all the things Numbers has done for him, every caress, every letter, every effort made; the other is for all the disappointments, all the things he should have done. And as usual, it doesn't get him anywhere, this fastidious calculation.  
No, in the end he still comes out missing Numbers and being fucking angry at him at the same time.

He hits a fist on the mattress in frustration.  
Damn, he has never missed anyone that badly in his whole life, not Alex, not Tim, not his sister.

Dovetail. What about her? Numbers hasn't shown him a picture of his sister. _Is she okay?_ He hasn't thought about her for some time.  
She had been the bulwark against Hammer's cruelty when he was still a small child, had tried to protect him from the neighborhood kids torturing him. But her interest had waned. In the end, hadn't she been the one to expose Numbers and him?  
He isn't 100% sure on this one though. The idea that his thick-headed brother had found out about them is ridiculous. And he can't believe someone like Numbers would ever admit affection.  
His sister on the other hand, she was smart enough to figure it out. In hindsight, the note and the money had reeked of her having something on her conscience.  
_So what if Dovetail is a fucking traitor?  
She is also the only relative I have left._

He scrambles to his feet.  
_What if... it's not that late yet!_

 

~~~

 

There's a knock on the door. Numbers listens closely, ignoring the murmuring of the TV. The noise is repeated.  
_Shit._ Who's the fuck needs to see/kill him at 11 pm?

Carefully, he puts the remote on the nightstand and gets out of bed.  
The gun is close by but before he has time to grab it, there is a third knock, louder, impatient. Something is slid under the door and into the room, lit only by the TV and a nightlamp.  
It looks like a piece of paper.  
_Two pieces?  
No, photos.  
_ He crouches down and reaches for them. It's the pictures he gave to Wrench.  
_Really? Now?_ With him dressed in sweatpants and a shirt soiled with Scrunyun leftovers? _Right._

Numbers peeks through the door's spyhole. It's Wrench alright, so he opens.

_\- What do you want? Finally come to kick my ass?_

_\- May I come in?_ Wrench smiles faintly.

Numbers shrugs, then motions for him to pass.  
He throws a last look left and right into the darkness to see if Wrench is alone but there's nothing to see.

Turning, Numbers pulls at the hem of his shirt and tries to brush off some of the Scrunyun dust.

_\- Your boss send you? Something wrong with the deal?_

He cocks his head, brow furrowed as he watches Wrench standing there, shifting from one cowboy boot to another.  
Numbers's feet are bare and the longer the silence, the more he's aware of the fact that he looks like a hobo. It's an inequality he doesn't particularly fancy.

_\- You say what you got to say or are we going to stand here like this forever?_

And suddenly, Wrench snaps out of it.

_\- My sister,_ he signs, _\- you didn't give me a picture of her._

_\- No._ Numbers sits down on the bed across from where Wrench is standing.

_\- No I guess I didn't._

_\- Is she – okay?_

He nods. _\- Yes. She's alright.  
\- Sorry, I don't have a photo of her with me,_ he adds.

_\- Where does she live? Is she still in Fargo?_

_\- Same house. Still with us. Yes._

Wrench moves his hand as if he's about to say something more but then stops mid-air and shakes his head.

_\- Look, Dovetail is okay. She can fend for herself. I don't think she merits your concern either._

The other pinches his nose. _\- Not your call to make. Don't care for your opinion on this._

Numbers puts his hands in his lap and glares at them. Doesn't know what else to say. He feels like he has no right to even talk to Wrench and fears if he says more, things will turn mean again.  
Eventually, he glances up into the hard green eyes, holding their gaze. _Whatever_.

 

The stare Numbers gives him is the same as it was years ago.  
He looks like shit though in his sweatpants and shirt, hair messed up, beard unkempt. Dissheveled. Vulnerable. Older. And incredibly hot.  
Wrench realizes that he's still drawn to the man like the mindless moth to the flame. It irks him. The moment he walked through the door he wanted to hurt him – or kiss him. Or both.  
Couldn't he have asked about Dovetail tomorrow?  
No, he wanted to do it tonight. See what their meeting had done to Numbers. See IF it had done anything. Look behind the slick, taut facade. Find that he was indifferent - or shaken?

Numbers appears to be the same guy he has always known, angry, fucked up, with a soft spot somewhere deep down for him. Why else had he have given him the photos? Why else had he even let him in tonight? _I’m his weakness_.  
And suddenly Wrench realizes, he’ll get the best of him now.

Next thing he knows, he sits down on the bed beside Numbers and runs his fingertips over his cheek and through his beard.  
The light contact is enough to make him feel the shivers pass through the other man.  
He's going to make Numbers hurt.

 

Only when Wrench brushes a hand through his hair and yanks his face to the side, does Numbers truly grasp what's happening.  
Wrench's lips latch onto his and when he opens his mouth the other bites him hard.  
Strong hands grab him, pull him astride onto Wrench's lap and he doesn't even make an effort to fight it.  
Instead, he let's Wrench do as he pleases, free him from the shirt, claw at his chest hair, rake fingernails down his back until he's raw and then suck the life out of him.

At some point Numbers buries his face in Wrench's neck, inhaling the mixed scents of sweat, leather and cheap cologne. He's roughly pushed off, though.  
Back on his feet he stares at the younger man confusedly but then understands.

Wrench shrugs out of his jacket and pulls the shirt over his head.  
_\- Get your pants down, NOW,_ he motions and unbuckles his belt.

Numbers steps out of the sweatpants as Wrench's jeans fall around his ankles.

Then the other grabs him by the hem of the boxer briefs, draws him close and yanks the underwear down.  
”I said take your pants off,” Wrench mumbles against his crotch as he kneels down in front of him on the floor.

A tongue licks along Numbers hardening cock and Wrench's hands are firm on his butt.  
There is no way out of this even if he wanted to.  
All he can do is squirm feebly under Wrench's attentions. _Shit where did he learn to suck dick like this._  
His head feels light and his knees are getting weak fast as the other twirls his tongue over the tip of his cock and swallows it.  
When he leans forward and puts his hands on Wrench's shoulders to support himself he draws away, though, and sits down on the bed once more.  
_-Come closer._  
Numbers does as he's told and his partner sweeps him up and pulls him onto his lap once again.  
Only this time they're both naked and when he settles down Wrench's cock rubs against his.  
Numbers moans, who cares if the neighbors hear him.  
One arm safely around him, Wrench grabs their dicks with his free hand and starts moving it up and down, stroking.

It's too much to take for long. Numbers knows he’s close and he can’t help it, won’t try. He’ll just let go.  
And with the next movement it’s over, he comes in Wrench’s hand and jizzes across his chest.

 

The way Numbers gives in to him, is what drives Wrench forward. He is in charge and the other a willing prey.  
At last the sheer look of Numbers, hair wild and sticky, mouth hanging open as he orgasms hard, does the trick in no time.  
Wrench buries his hand in the other’s hair, pulls his head back and with a groan and a quiver shoots his load on him.

For a few seconds Wrench simply gasps for air, Numbers limp on his lap, but then the pushes him off a little. The smell of cum is strong in the air.  
Wiping his hand across his own chest, Wrench cleans off the mess and smears it into Numbers’s chest hair, mingling it with his semen.  
“You keep that as a souvenir,” he grunts and proceeds to shove Numbers off.

Sliding him from his lap, Wrench pushes the other man onto the bed and gets up.

_\- You’re still the same fucking whore, a sucker for fresh dick, eh? It’s pathetic, old man._

Numbers, lying on the bed, squints at him but _\- Fuck you,_ is all he manages to get out.

_\- You’re so easy to get, it’s disgusting me already. Get some self-respect._

Wrench isn’t even sure why but before leaving he takes the photos of his friends and shreds them to pieces, strewing the paper all over the floor.


	44. Interlude 7

In the shower he washes off the sweat and cum, soaps his hair and rinses it. He traces the tattoo on his collarbone with a slick finger and chuckles.  
It was a good idea to throw that fucking vase with the fake flowers against the bedroom wall.  
He is less angry now - if only by the slimmest of margins.

  
The truth is, after this, this incident, he’s no longer scared of meeting Wrench. What he has encountered tonight, is the kind outlet for resentment he’s familiar with.   
Who wouldn’t prefer being choked by a dick in the face to being suffocated by an arm across the throat?


	45. Chapter 45

**A Few Days Later**

 

They stand on the steel walkway in the factory building and survey the spacious room beneath from over the railing. Numbers taps his fingers on the metal and adjusts his earpiece with one hand.

He turns to Wrench.  
_\- You sure you’re quick enough for this?_

_\- I’ve shot on the range before I even knew you. Hammer made me._

Numbers nods, _\- Okay, Shep says they are coming. Cars rounding the corner. Be prepared. Nobody is supposed to leave alive but us._

In reply Wrench gives him a stern look.

Numbers isn’t sure he should trust the kid with his life but what can you do. Backup is necessary. And he needs a guy who is good with a gun, who’s able to play the sniper, preferably somebody he can communicate with silently. 

Jergen had given him detailed instructions on how to solve this mess.  
So three days ago he waited in Mr. Puppet Boss’s darkened kitchen and shot him and the wife right between the eyes. Mr. Reed fell over with a thump and that was that. Neat job for once.  
A meeting of all parties had been inevitable then. And it wasn't too hard for Wade's people to find out the time and place.

There’s a crackle in the earpiece and Shep's second warning brings him back to the present.

_\- Okay, here we go. Get in the backroom._

Wrench complies and steps into the hidden space behind the wall. From the walkway Numbers still stares down into the hall for a few more seconds but then joins Wrench in the tiny room, closing the panel. It's dark and immediately stuffy. He curses whoever had decided this space was big enough for two.  
There is no way to see what's happening outside, and that bothers him even more.  
_Well, lets stop breathing and hope for the best._

 

The steel doors swing open and two guys with shotguns enter, sweeping the room. There isn't much inside, though. The big hall is empty except for a table and chairs.

“Downstairs is clear!” they shout in unison.

Two more people come in, a woman in a white pantsuit and a long leather coat, followed by a third man in a protective vest.

“Check the walkway,” the woman says. “You go right, I go left.”

 

Numbers can't understand the exact words spoken from behind the wall panel with the earpiece still in place, but he hears their boots on the metal stairways. He focuses on the steps, trying to find out how close they are. Shep said he saw four heavily armed guards walking toward the entrance.

Wrench towers behind Numbers in complete silence. One shout, one single loud noise and he could sell the other out.  
Okay, the goons would kill him, too, but the thought of screwing Numbers over has crossed his mind more than once in the last few minutes.  
At least he wouldn't have to stand this close to him anymore, smell his hair product, shower gel – and nervousness.  
He's glad Numbers can't see him smile in the dark.

After about 10 minutes, Numbers taps him on the arm, meaning he's going to peek out, see if they can approach and lie low behind the railing.  
They tested this. Wrench flat on the walkway, Numbers standing downstairs where the table and chairs are, looking up. Should be okay, especially if the people below are mostly seated and focused on something else entirely. They have to be quick, though.

Carefully, Numbers opens the wall panel and peers through the crack. Nothing to be seen. He slips through the door, gun slung over his back and immediately crouches down. He can hear them murmur; nobody seems to have noticed him – yet.  
He lies down on his belly and crawls forward on his elbows to get a glimpse through the railing.

Four people are seated at the table, two on either side. Each faction has brought four armed guards.  
Just now they're engaged in conversation, the guards' eyes either fixed on each other or on what's going on at the table. _Good_.

With one hand Numbers beckons Wrench to follow him. He gets the gun ready, unslinging it and positions himself.

Meanwhile, Wrench has slipped out of the secret room and squats down beside him on the walkway, adjusting his own weapon.

Numbers indicates for him to focus on the armed guards on the right while he takes out the ones to the left.  
He aims and then taps Wrench with his foot.  
One. Two. Three.  
And they start shooting.  
  


The noise of the guns echoes through the empty room, and before the guards below know what's happening, they're already under heavy fire.  
Wrench immediately takes out the man in the vest with a headshot and then shoots the woman next to him in the chest.  
Blood blossoms on her suit and she falls to her knees.  
The other guards are taking aim, a bullet ricochets off the metal railing missing Wrench's face, but it’s too late.  
Another round of shots and they're dead, too.

Numbers is as quick as Wrench, taking out the guards on his side, but the men at the table stand up and pull out guns.  
Two of them try to make for the door, however, while the other two overturn the conference table and start shooting from behind it.

Wrench gets one of the fleeing men in the back but misses the second.

Meanwhile Numbers, instead of further decking the room with bullets from his crouching position, unslings the empty gun, gets up, and pulls out his revolver to have a better aim.

_Dammit Numbers, what are you doing._ Wrench shifts focus away from the running man and towards the shooters.

One of them is taken down by Numbers just as he peeks out pointing his gun at Wrench. The other is still firing.

A shot rings out and the bullet sears through Numbers's jacket and tears through his right shoulder.  
He cries out in pain. His fingers lose grip, and the revolver clatters to the floor and skits away.

“Numbers!” Wrench's cry pierces the air. A quick side glance reveals his partner, crouching down, as he holds his bleeding shoulder.  
He gets up himself now. Hatred takes hold of him, and he aims and shoots the guy who hit Numbers in the hand as he tries to fire once more. There's a yell of pain.

Then Wrench descends the staircase. He doesn't give a fuck about the guy who has been running out the door. Shep can get him.

The hurt man sits behind the table and presses his right hand to his chest. The gun is on the floor, empty.  
Wrench towers over him and kicks the gun further away.  
Trembling, the man moves his unhurt hand up as if to surrender, but Wrench squats down in front of him and puts the nuzzle of the gun on his forehead.  
One clean shot blows the guy's brains all over the place and he falls back, smudging the floor.

Releasing the gun slung over his shoulder from the grip of his hands, Wrench signs:

_\- You don't get to hurt him. He's mine._

 

When he turns away from the dead body, Numbers already comes lumbering down the stairs.  
He is a bit wobbly on his feet and blood seeps through the fabric of his jacket.

“Shep says they're trailing the guy who got away. We need to hide.”

_\- That was fucking reckless of you to do. Asshole._

“Reckless?! I did what I had to to get a better aim.”  
“We need to get out of here, lie low for a night or two.”

_\- You need medical attention._

“This?” Numbers eyes his arm. “Scratch wound. You bandage it. Not discussing.”

Wrench gnashes his teeth. Every minute they spend arguing puts them in danger.

_\- I know a place, lets get out of here. Shep can take care of the rest. We best stay out of sight for the night after you fucked up._

“I didn't fuck up! I got shot.” Numbers starts to wave the hurt arm and the sudden pain shooting through his shoulder almost blinds him. He moans loudly.

_\- Shut up and get in the car._

Wrench grabs Numbers by the good hand and drags him to the exit.  
He spies through the half open door but there is nobody outside.

The building is in an old industrial complex, a part of town that is mostly deserted. At this time of day, with the sun already setting, it's unlikely anybody will see them.  
  
Somehow Wrench manages to push/shove an increasingly dizzy and still bleeding Numbers in the direction of the car they parked behind an adjoining building.  
He opens the passenger seat door and sits Numbers down.

_\- I'll fasten the seat belt just so, you press your hand on the wound. I’ll get us to a safe place. It's too dangerous to stay here any longer._

Numbers merely nods, “No doctors or anything.”

_\- I understood you the first time._

“Guess it's your turn to drive.” A lopsided grin spreads over Numbers's face.

Wrench hesitates, _\- It's going to be alright._

Then he gets into the driver's seat and steers the car towards the outskirts of town where the abandoned church lies.


	46. Chapter 46

At first, the shock numbs the pain in his arm, but all too soon the wound begins to throb. Numbers applies pressure to it until his fingers hurt. He wishes he could let go for a while, he’s so tired, yet he doesn’t dare to take off his hand.  
It's just his bad luck, getting shot. _Bad luck._

Every now and then Wrench elbows him in the side to keep him awake and alert.  
After the third or fourth time, he's mentally ready to swing a fist at him. All he can do, though, is mumble an insult and lean away.

He wonders where Wrench wants to go. They're certainly not heading back to the gang's garage. Wrench wouldn't dare to bring him there, all bleeding and shit.

Instead, they’re heading out of town, along a deserted road and then, after about 30 minutes of driving, Wrench takes a sharp left turn. Each bump and hollow of the muddy track registers with the wound, sending pain through Numbers's arm and along his shoulder.

The car comes to a halt at the edge of the woods near a building obscured in darkness.  
“It's an old hideout of mine.” Wrench says and unfastens his seat belt. “You sit tight until I come back and help you out of the car.”

Numbers is too slow to indicate an answer.  
He simply hopes Wrench is right, that this is a safe house. Doesn't feel like he can hold a gun – let alone be in a fist fight, in the near future.

Time stands still as he waits. _What is Wrench doing outside?_ There's a rumbling noise as somebody rummages in the trunk of the car. Then he hears the clap of a door being shut forcefully.  
_What kind of building is this anyway? A barn or something?_  
He hates being helpless. Defenseless.  
Numbers clenches his teeth. Why was he so reckless, leaving his cover back in the warehouse? It was stupid. Unnecessary, to say the least.

Eventually, Wrench’s return interrupts his unpleasant train of thought.

“I can walk.” Numbers hisses, when the other man opens the door.  
But Wrench pretends not to have seen his lips move and wraps an arm around Numbers's hip in case he's still dizzy.

“It's just my shoulder,” he grumbles.  
His companion doesn't take note.

Wrench is dead-set on helping Numbers inside. _Of what?_  
He looks up. Now that he's standing right in front of the wooden structure, he realizes it's a church.  
_A goddamn church. Right. Nobody's gonna come look for the likes of us in a church._

 

In the building there are only few pews left. Most have either rotted away in the rain that poured through the roof or were removed.  
Wrench has lit a lantern in the corner of the room. There's a mildewed looking mattress, too, a blanket from the car spread over it.

 _For Chrissake. What a rat hole. Great. Just great._ He'll probably contract every disease he's ever heard about.

Numbers instinctively recoils a little, but Wrench drags him forward.

\- _Sit._ Wrench points at the mattress.

Numbers groans, it's not as if he has much of a choice. His shoulder hurts, he's in the middle of nowhere and there could be people out there looking for them. Especially, if Shep hadn't been able to take care of the guy who escaped the scene of slaughter.

Beaten, he slumps down.

 _\- I'll remove your jacket,_ Wrench signs.

“NO. I can barely move my arm. The fuck you'll do!”

_\- I need to take care of your shoulder wound._

“No,” Numbers shys away from the other man.

_\- I can CUT the damn thing off you, if you prefer that!_

“You wouldn't!”

But the way Wrench glares at him, eyes narrowed, doing this little flick of the head signaling disgust, Numbers is sure he would.

“Okay. Okay... WHATEVER.”

Carefully, Wrench helps him out of the jacket. He pulls the fabric back from Numbers's shoulders and reveals blood crusted undergarments.

Numbers tries to play it tough but can't suppress a slight whimper when he is required to straighten his arm for Wrench to be able to free him from the sleeves.

_\- The shirt needs to come off, too._

With his good hand, Numbers unbuttons it before Wrench can squat down to do it for him.

 _\- Okay, this is going to hurt. I'm sorry.  
_ A grim expression on his face, Wrench begins to peel the shirt off Number's wounded arm. The blood has already clotted a bit and when the clothes give way, a fresh trickle emerges.

“OUCH! ASSHAT! Jesus fucking Christ! Shit.”  
Numbers groans and tries to get a look at the wound.

 _\- I think the bullet only grazed you,_ Wrench offers.

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

_\- I'm going to clean this and put a bandage on your shoulder. We need to stop the bleeding. Can't stitch you up, though._

“As if I'd let you stick a needle in me.”

_\- An eye for an eye..._

Wrench opens the first-aid-kit and takes out what he needs.  
It's a deep gash to fix but at least there's no bullet lodged in Numbers's body. That's something. Maybe the blood made it look worse than it actually is.  
He grabs the wounded man's arm and holds it still, then pours antiseptic on the injury.

Numbers's first reaction is to flinch at the burning pain, but Wrench has him in an iron grip.

“Sorry...”

Carefully, Wrench wipes the dry blood away with a gauze pad. Then he puts antiseptic cream on another one and applies it to Numbers's arm.  
He wraps a bandage around the area tightly, then sits back on his haunches, looking at Numbers.

_\- I'm not very good at this._

“You don't say...”

 _\- Here, better take one of these._ Wrench holds out a pill and a bottle of water to him.

Numbers reaches for the painkiller and swallows it, taking a long sip to wash it down. He hadn't even noticed how thirsty he was.

 _\- And you better put something on before you freeze. I'm afraid the only thing I found in the car was an old jacket.  
_ Wrench reaches for a blue parka beside him and, while Numbers is swearing loudly, he helps him put it on and zips it up.

Unhappy with his new clothes, Numbers scowls at the bloody shirt and jacket.  
“Look at this, you ruined a perfectly good suit.”

_\- I? You're the one who decided to give up your cover..._

“I had to! It was the only way to get to the other guy! Shut up and be glad you didn't have to do it!”  
Numbers is tired, his arm hurts. But he has still got enough fight left in him to defy Wrench any time. The fact that his partner is probably right only makes it worse. He himself is the seasoned killer of the two of them, but he still fucked it up.

Wrench frowns. It's unbelievable. Does Numbers even need to contradict him now?! All the pent up frustration, the pang of fear and anger at the stupid and dangerous situation they were, in bubbles to the surface.

_\- You had to my ASS. You were impatient. That is all! You don't have yourself under control. NEVER HAD!_

Of course. Of course, Wrench had to break open the wounds of the past.  
“Oh, that's how it is? You pathetic asshole. Do you have any idea how SHITTY my life got the day I first met your whole fucking family? The day I gave in to you?!”

Wrench stares. When he opens his mouth, a ghastly laugh comes over his lips. He shakes his head.  
_\- Your life was already shitty when you first came to our house. You were a sorry excuse for a criminal._

“No. It wasn't. I...”

But Wrench interrupts Numbers, violently signing, waving his arms in front of him.

_\- You had NOTHING in your life – NOBODY. You DO remember that you learned ASL to impress me, right? To get laid by a BOY?_

“You’re so full of it! Is that how you remember it?”  
In his excitement Numbers forgets about the gash in his arm and makes an attempt to sign. The motion is cut short immediately by a stabbing pain. It only makes him angrier.

“Is me fucking you the only thing you ever think about? Because it makes you feel less shitty to cast me as the monster? Boo-hoo. The evil man touched me and so my life is shit.  
I learned ASL because I thought you were worth TALKING to. My mistake!  
I know full well I should never have touched you. It was wrong. I admitted as much to you only a few days ago. But I don't need you to rub it in every fucking minute of your miserable existence.  
At least I'm not the one who beat you up every other week. I didn't force you to run away either. You could have stayed with me.”

Wrench trembles with resentment. Tears well up in his eyes.  
_\- FUCK YOU! I could have stayed with you?! Why are you saying this again? Bullshit. You planned on hiding me under your bed for the rest of my life?! You’re such an asshole. I can't believe I even MISSED you._

“What do YOU know about whether I CARED or not anyway? I killed a man for you. I killed - for you.” Numbers is beside himself with rage.

At his outburst Wrench frowns and takes a step backwards. _What's that?_ He hesitates for a second, but his fingers start flying, moving of their own accord.

_\- What do you mean, you killed a man for me? Are you insane? I never asked you to kill anyone!_

“Oh no, you never asked. You just sent me photos of you taken by that child abuser. No, you never asked. Of course not.”  
He grits his teeth and pushes his chin forward in defiance.

 _\- What the..._ Wrench's face goes white.  
_\- No, no, no. You killed Nolan?!_

“Of course I did! What did you think would happen once I saw those photos you sent me. Did you think I'd sit idly by while that guy was hurting you?”

_\- What?! No. Don't you dare pin this on me. I did not ask for this._

“Did you think I'd let anybody get away with this? What did you think AT ALL?”

Wrench’s hands tremble as he answers.  
_\- I wanted to HURT you. I never asked you to kill him! I don't believe this. You didn't._

“Then you're not only an asshole but a fucking moron, too.”  
This is too much to take on top of everything else that happened to him today. In a final effort he reaches for the bloody jacket on the floor and gets up.

“I need to step outside,” is all he manages to say and then leaves Wrench standing alone in the abandoned building, wondering what just happened.

 


	47. Chapter 47

As much as Wrench had felt in charge a few moments ago, as much does he realize the situation got completely out of hand now.

Numbers killed Nolan? It’s hard to wrap his head around the thought. The idea that somebody had killed for him. _It’s sick. Isn’t it? Yes. Incredibly sick._ The truth is, though, Wrench knows it’s partly his fault. Perhaps he _did_ want Numbers to do something like this?  
After all… Numbers always tried to protect him as best he could.

Wrench shudders. It hadn’t been a lie when he said he’d missed Numbers.  
And that man who had shot his partner only and hour ago, _he_ killed him, too… _Numbers is mine._

Tears well up in Wrench’s eyes and uncontrollable sobs spill over his lips as he realizes he still has all these feelings for the man.

 

 

In the meantime, Numbers walks around to the other side of the church where a vague shimmer of lantern light comes through the windows.  
Fidgeting with one hand in the pocket of his jacket, he fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then dumps the bloody piece of clothing on the floor.  
Numbers sits down, back leaning against the wooden structure. His arm hurts like hell despite the painkillers but he needs a smoke and so lights a cigarette.

He waits in the semi-darkness. It’s freezing cold, his fingers are stiff. He keeps smoking through the whole pack, though.  
Bone-tired is what he is, yet his mind is still racing, occupied by nothing but thoughts about Cassidy… Wrench… whatever.

_Shit_ , he hadn’t intended it to go this way. First, he kind of fucked up their gig and then of course they had to yell at each other.  
Cassidy is right. He was nobody. And there had been nobody in his life but him.  
Numbers groans. Oh, he wants the man back desperately.

 

There is no telling how long he sat alone but finally the light of the lantern vanishes only to appear right around the corner and Numbers can make out Wrench’s heavy steps.

For a few moments, Wrench simply stands there, lantern placed on the windowsill, casting a shadow over him. Numbers doesn’t move.

_“- Please come in before you freeze out here.”_

“No. We'll just gonna go on fighting.”  
He turns away.

 Wrench squats down and taps Numbers gently on his good shoulder.

_“- Maybe not. I am done fighting with you. What’s past is past.”_

In the light of the lantern Numbers can see that Wrench's eyes are red from crying.  
“You’re done with me?”

_“No. I said I am done fighting. Not done with you. Please come inside, Aaron.”_

His first name... Yet, Numbers shakes his head. “ I can’t. I can’t stand to be close to you and be like this.”

_“- Be like what?”_ Wrench frowns.

Numbers closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, “Still in love with you.”

There is no answer at first, Wrench merely trembles lightly and sits down beside him.

“Say something. Anything. Tell me to fuck off already. Just don’t say nothing…” Numbers pleads.  
The silence is unbearable.

But then Wrench slides his arm behind his back and leans in close, lips brushing over Number's cheek. The younger man shivers and it’s not the cold.

“Cassidy,” Numbers mumbles against Wrench’s lips before the latter places a soft kiss on his mouth. The connection lasts only for a few seconds before it is broken again.

_“- I love you, too. Now come inside with me you dumb idiot.”_

 

This time Numbers complies, lets Wrench help him back inside and curls up with him on the mattress. He’s still freezing but his partner is warm against him and eventually pulls a second blanket over the two of them.

Numbers turns to Wrench. It’s the same face to look at he knew way back but a stronger, much smarter man who holds him in his arms.

“If I could go back… I swear I’d take you with me and we’d just leave,” he says.

_“- But I don’t want to run away with you anymore. I want to go home with you.”_ Wrench smiles softly.

“Home?”

“To Fargo.”

 “Oh… Okay… Yes. YES.”

 

 

THE END.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **All images in this work of fiction are 'free for use' and were offered online with the explicit statement of license holders that no attribution is needed. Images under the Creative Commons License and original artwork are listed and attributed below. Please note that all photographs, free or attributed, were digitally altered.**  
>   
> 
> Original Artwork (OA)
> 
> Chaper 3:  
> • Wrench / Hands (by: [ithinkwehitametaphor](http://ithinkwehitametaphor.tumblr.com/post/112715111164/wrench-source-handspeak-com) / Feb 2015)  
>  Chaper 9:  
> • Mr. Numbers and Cassidy (Wrench) (by: [ithinkwehitametaphor](http://ithinkwehitametaphor.tumblr.com/post/109425252514/mr-wrench-and-mr-numbers-fargo-fx-reference) / Feb 2015)
> 
>  
> 
> Licenses (L) and Attribution  
> Images listed below are subject to the [Creative Commons License.](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/) All photos were digitally altered specifically for the purpose of this work of fiction. Original license holders are **not** affiliated with this project.
> 
> Summary:  
> • Fargo Theater - Attribution: Flickr user: Afiler (<https://www.flickr.com/photos/afiler/>) Available: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fargo_Theater.jpg
> 
> Please note that images used in this work of fiction are not free for use. However, if you are interested in sharing them, please feel free to contact me via AO3.


End file.
